Ultimacy
by seriousish
Summary: While Peter Parker's love life with Sue Storm goes through the usual Spider-Man obstacle course, Scott Summers is the new leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants.
1. The Invisible Handjob

_A/N: This fic takes place after issue 86 of Ultimate Spider-Man and was betaed by Nomani._

* * *

It'd finally happened. Peter was finally going crazy. Because he was totally alone in the steam room and he was sure someone was talking to him.

Voice in his head. He wondered if there was room for it next to his spider-sense and the general guilt.

He couldn't even blame it on someone hitting him with mental rays or drugs or even Grateful Dead music. The night before, he'd fought the Shocker, taken the brunt of a… vibro-hit or whatever… but had popped nothing stronger than Aspirin for his bruised ribs. Then he'd muddled through his school day… got out of gym class though he was pretty sure the coach thought he had menstrual cramps… and slunk into the locker room.

Peter supposed he was letting down the stereotypical nerd, but the locker room was the best thing about Midtown High (at least, now that he'd broken up with Mary Jane). Not for the reason Flash might have oh-so-sensitively suggested so many times, but because it contained the steam room.

He wasn't sure why; maybe it was completely psychosomatic. But putting in a half hour or so in a steam room seemed to wipe him clean of all his bruises and cuts. Something about how his radioactive blood processed injuries, and then how sweating detoxified him. Probably.

He didn't like thinking about it. Thinking about it usually led to him being convinced he was going to turn into a giant spider someday. And nobody likes giant spiders. People didn't even like movies about giant spiders. Wild Wild West…

This would be when he heard a voice in his head.

"So, this is going to sound weird, but… hi."

It was a woman's voice. That was a good sign, right? Or maybe it meant he had mommy issues. Hard to tell. "Let me guess. You want me to burn something?"

The woman—or his own subconscious, or whatever—laughed. "Uh, no, think it's hot enough in here. Oh, you're thinking I'm like a leprechaun or something? No, no, here. I usually try to avoid this, but…"

Peter watched, about as confused as usual, as a pitcher of water picked itself up and poured a little of itself onto the sauna rocks in the middle of the room. The blast of steam outlined—a woman. Nice woman. Neat breasts. Bubble butt…

Peter slapped himself mentally. Good thing it _wasn't _a voice in his head, overhearing that. Geez, could you tell he was a bachelor now? "Sue? Sue Storm?"

And, realizing that it wasn't a voice in his head, Peter also realized that he was alone in a cramped steam room, with a girl, wearing nothing more than a towel. "Hey now!" he cried, quickly checking the knot at his waist.

"Ssh! Shh! It's okay! I'm just—I'm sitting down next to you now." Peter watched the moisture—do something—on the bench next to him. "Okay, alright, this is a little embarrassing. But I'm gonna tell you and you're gonna laugh."

"Oh, so it's funny-ha-ha and not funny-there's-an-invisible-woman-next-to-me?"

"Don't freak out!"

"You can't un-freak me out by just _saying _'don't freak out'! If I step off a cliff, are you gonna tell me 'don't fall'?"

"_Shut up and listen._"

Peter took a deep breath. The cleansing aroma of the steam room—along with some of Sue's perfume. Oy vey and vey oy. "You're right, you're right. You've got some secret mission for me? Superhero team-up we need to get on? Tell me, I'm all ears."

"I had a fight with Reed."

Peter blinked. "Like… he turned evil and is building a death-ray and we need to punch him?"

"Oh, I wish. More like—moaned my mom's name in his sleep. While I was grinding on him."

"Grinding?" Peter repeated.

"You know, when you're sleeping together and you—well, not you, but the lady—rubs her booty into your groin."

"I wouldn't… precisely… know."

A brief pause. "Love 'em and leave 'em, huh? Good policy. But yeah, girls do that. On purpose."

"_Why?_ That's… that's where we keep our penises."

"Yeah, and you get hard-ons and… it's reassuring, somehow. I don't know, maybe I'm just weird. I read it in Cosmo, _God knows _they'll publish anything up to and including how to summon Cthulu, but it's kinda my jam now. Anyway, I'm giving Reed the time of day, he's getting a boner—and when you're Mr. Fantastic, you can get _a lot _of a boner…"

"We sure I'm not going crazy? This feels like going crazy."

"—he starts in 'oh, Mrs. Storm!'"

"Maybe he was talking about you?"

"I'm _Dr. Storm."_

"Ah." Peter looked around. Sue was still invisible. "Can we bring this around to why I'm naked?"

"That sounds like a personal matter. But yeah, I needed someone to talk to. Ben is Reed's best friend, Johnny is my _brother_—but he's talked about you _a lot, _so I figured I could find you and bend your ear. I saw you web-swinging during lunch period, tried to say something, but… yeah, I'm awkward. Now I know why superheroes always fight each other when they first meet in the comics. A lot simpler than saying 'hey, superfriend, you don't know me, but wanna hear about my douche boyfriend?'"

"So you followed me to my school, watched me change clothes, then followed me into the boys' locker room and watched me disrobe _again—"_

"I covered my eyes with my hand."

"Oh."

"Of course, my hand was also invisible…"

"_Goy!"_

"You make a lot of noises. Anyone ever tell you that? More than a few…"

"_You know my secret identity!"_

"Sorry. But, hey, Johnny knows, and he's an idiot. You don't think I can keep a secret better than my idiot brother?"

And all of a sudden, Peter broke off with a cackle that echoed off the walls. "You know something? I used to have nightmares about some idiot with a cell phone taking a picture of me without a mask on and, like—Chow Yun-Fat showing up at my house with a gun in each hand to kill my aunt. You know? Now, Nick Fury knows, probably got some database with my superhero name right next to my shoe size—Black Cat saw my face. Don't know how good a look she got before she vomited. Yeah. Invisible Woman. Knows who I am. Why not?"

"That was, ah, a very healthy outlook for a statement preceded by a maniacal laugh."

Peter put his hands behind his back and leaned against the wall. "Yup. So, what'd you want to talk about?"

"Oh, let's not talk about me. Big sister syndrome. Just… what's up with you?"

"I'm naked and a strange woman wants to talk with me about being single."

"Oh, like you haven't written fanfic about that." After a moment, Peter heard a zipper working. "Tell you what. Since you're hung up on the nudity thing, I'll lose a few layers. Least I can do."

Peter watched as a jacket appeared in mid-air, like a magician's trick—was folded and hung up on the wall. Then, with a click of metal, a belt popped open and a pair of pants came down long, invisible legs.

Under the towel, Peter felt his webshooter give a twitch.

Regardless, he said "It loses some of the effect when you're invisible."

"Having a hard time turning it off," she confessed. "When I get really upset, it kinda… sticks. And, God… my _mother…_ I'm wearing panties, by the way. Don't think I'm not."

"I wasn't—"

"Boy-cut panties. Case you were wondering."

"I was—not particularly?"

Little footprints appeared and dissipated on the moist floor. "So, what's this about a black cat seeing your face and throwing up? Did you have a zit or something?"

"Uh, _the _Black Cat. This thief-y vigilante person. Woman."

"Oh. It's like that."

"It was. It almost was. She was pretty into me up until she realized I couldn't buy beer."

"What? You'd think a criminal would have more appreciation for jailbait. Anyway, you pretty much talk in emoticons; what was she expecting, Cary Grant?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I'm out two girlfriends. Mary Jane—ex number one—she can't protect herself and I can't protect her and if I keep pulling her in… well, I don't have to tell you. How long would a normal person last if you put him up at the Baxter Building so you could have a cuddle buddy?"

"Yeah. Unless I get very open-minded, my little black book is Reed and Namor. They could have a dickhead-measuring contest."

"Well, look on the bright side. More of us every day. I bet the next version of the Ultimates will have an eligible bachelor."

"If I break up with Reed." Peter could see some of her face now. Somehow, her tears smeared on it. "Oh, _shit, _what am I gonna do?"

Peter reached out carefully. She didn't shy away, not even when his hand found her arm. He slid it over her bare skin, from one slim shoulder to the one, wrapping her up and drawing her close. Her warm weight settled against his side and he heard her sniffle.

"You know what I think?" he asked the empty air. "I think our lives _suck. _Everyone's life sucks, at least a little, _somehow. _And when your life sucks in a certain way, you figure out how to deal with that kind of sucking. And someone else whose life sucks in a different way, they have their own way of dealing with their sucking. And so, if their life sucks in some new way that's something like the way your life sucks, you can tell them how to deal. And they can tell you how to deal when your life sucks like theirs. And maybe if we all just stopped thinking how our lives are sucking and thought about how other people's lives suck—maybe we could all figure out what we're supposed to do with this huge, sucky world."

She shook against his body. Her skin was hot and damp and soft and smooth. All the more special because he couldn't see or much remember it.

One of her tears slipped to his skin. It was cold. A little icicle growing down to touch his body. "I can see why the Cat was so surprised. You have a very old soul, Peter. You seem like you have everything figured out."

And here he'd thought her brother was the funny one. "What gave me away? The blue and red underroos?"

Her voice dropped even softer and he felt her hand settle on his knee. "Don't be hard on yourself. You took out Kraven the Hunter in one punch."

He shook his head. "I have more than one friend who's become a supervillain."

"You're a good guy, Mr. Parker." An invisible hand caressed his cheek. It felt nice. Like a cool breeze. "You should have parades and clothing lines and girls throwing themselves at you."

Peter snorted. "I do have the girl-throwing. Catching them is the problem."

"Wanna hear something funny? When I went looking for you, it was to get revenge on Reed. I was gonna fuck your brains out. Isn't that funny?"

"Hysterical."

Then she was kissing him. Invisible lips pressed to his, invisible hands caressed his body. He closed his eyes to stop seeing his tongue in her transparent mouth. Made him feel like Miley Cyrus.

She stopped. He imagined her looking at him, thinking _I kissed _that _guy? _But then she was kissing his neck and, well, damn—how was he not supposed to get an erection then? Seemed so rude…

"Just so you know, I am way too wired to be neurotic right now." Three hours of sleep, getting his ass kicked by the Shocker, _and _an AP History pop quiz. "If you want neurotic, you're going to have to be neurotic for both of us."

A few strands of hair whipped into his face and he realized she was shaking her head emphatically. "I'm twenty-five years old and I have a degree in molecular biology. I'm doing a dissertation for my second PhD right now. I don't want quantum theory right now. I want…" He felt her legs settle over his lap, her body straddling his. Got her point across. "God. When Johnny kept calling you Spider, I thought you'd be some scarred-up badass. I had no idea you were so cute without the mask on."

"Sue…" Her name tasted weird on his tongue. Not Mary Jane. "We're in a school. Anyone _could _walk in…"

"I'm invisible, babe. If anyone does come in—well, high schools are prisons for teenage boys. You can't be the first guy who's jerked off in here."

He felt her pulling his towel away. Like the Coppertone baby. When his cock rose into open air, he expected to feel a wave of recrimination, some feeling of betrayal toward MJ. Nope. Just that whistling descent into fun he felt when he jumped off a building.

When she pulled away, he let out an offended "Hey!" before feeling abashed. Yeah. Second thoughts. Why not? He reached for the towel.

"Keep that thing out in the open," Sue hissed. "I want to see how you like the show."

"Show?"

The pitcher emptied itself onto the sauna rocks, filling the room with billowing steam. The cramped space became an infinite expanse of smoke, populated only by himself and the silhouette in the swirling mist. Although the steam made her barely visible, it also outlined her—every nook and cranny. He could see her crop top as she pulled it off and made it into a real object instead of an imprint. Without it, her breasts stood high and firm. Even her nipples were visible, already jutting out from nothing more than the effect of a few kisses.

Then, as the steam settled, she bent to pull down her panties.

"Goddamn, you're pretty," he said. Could only think to say. "You're really, really pretty."

"Thanks." She stood there, disappearing again as the steam faded. "Peter… Peter, I'm naked."

"Yeah." He felt foolish.

"I've never been naked with anyone but Reed. But I've been naked with him a lot, so… who gives a fuck?"

She moved on him so fast that the remaining steam swirled with her passage, slapping into him, pressing him against the wall as she kissed him hungrily. He felt his hands still a moment, but then felt her cool fingers on the back of his neck; squeezing his ass. He returned the favor, feeling out her taut body by touch alone. Hell of a physique for a molecular biologist.

He and Mary Jane had had plenty of make-out sessions, but something about their intimacy had always made him reluctant to go further, take the next step. She always seemed receptive, but he never wanted to tempt rejection. So he always ended up pulling away, reminding her how late it'd gotten, and she went away and he jerked off in the shower. With Sue he didn't feel any such compunction. He touched her all over, her welcoming warmth seeming to hover in mid-air.

She followed suit, her touch running shockingly, daringly across his body. She delighted in his slender musculature—lanky arms full of biceps, slim chest packed with muscle—the small but steel-hard quads of his legs were squeezed hard, but her fingers barely sunk into his firm flesh. She made a little sighing noise of approval. Peter guessed it was a change of pace from Reed. Emboldened by her lascivious response, Peter clapped his hands onto her ass with a minimum of force.

"Hey, if you're going to slap it, _slap it."_

"Sorry." He wasn't going to slap it. Instead, he ran his palms up her sides to her breasts. He felt her lean back to accommodate him, though she took his hands in hers and kissed each in turn before pressing them to her chest.

There, she was full and in motion, tits heaving under his touch. He squeezed them carefully, but with growing force after the first time she moaned decadently. Her ghostly fingers ran up and down his outstretched arms, once more enjoying the feel of his trim muscles. One more cooing endorsement and he couldn't take it anymore.

Peter jerked his legs up, tilting her toward him, used his hands to play her breasts together, and buried his face in the tender warmth of her cleavage. There, he licked and kissed until he'd caught a little stone of a nipple in his mouth. When he sucked on it, the air rang out with Sue's loudest enjoyment yet.

Still, even he was taken by surprise when he felt a cool fingernail running along his cock, followed by the delicate grip of her hand. It felt like there was electricity under the surface of his cock. Peter could've fainted. He thought it must be a mistake. She'd grabbed him accidentally. Then she pumped once, slowly, describing his penis to the very tip before sinking back down to fit snugly at the base, so his dick seemed to be straining to burst free of her hold on him.

His lips had gone slack on her nipple. He was manipulated, her other hand gripping his chin and raising his face for her to kiss him. It took him a moment to respond to the kiss, not having been able to see her approaching. Peter felt like he was moving in slow-motion. As they kissed, Peter felt something warm—not warm, but _heated_—heated and _wet_—press against his manhood.

"Johnny said it was big, buh-buh-but I had no idea…" Sue stammered.

Peter realized two things in rapid succession, like a burst from his spider-sense. First, Sue was rubbing him against the lips of her pussy. Preparing to take him inside. Second…

"Johnny Storm's seen my dick?"

"You're the one who wears skintight spandex while he fights Electra. Shut up. Let me feel that thing a little…"

For once in his life, he shut up, trying to focus on kissing her—not an unpleasant task. It wasn't quite as special as kissing MJ was—missing that little spike of longing that went into him when he did and made him feel like his heart would burst. But the very anonymity of it had its own appeal.

He just couldn't concentrate when she was working over his cock like she was… push-pulling his shaft, loosening her grip so she barely skimmed him for a little while, then almost throttling him with heavy drags down his stalk. And sometimes she would just press him against her cunt, let him feel that wonderful moistness, and those were the times he wasn't sure he could breathe.

He stopped kissing her, just groaning and grunting as she actually bit his cheek, grinding her teeth on his skin as she fondled him. His cock was so hard it hurt, straining at the wetness she rubbed against it like it could will itself inside her. He felt half-animal; his body had her scent and it was seething for her. A spurt of precum slipped down his cockhead, coating her pistoning hand with a filmy layer of ejaculate.

Her teeth left his face, a void in the air in front of him as she backed up to display her now slightly visible hand. Her thumb smeared his seed into her palm, then, bit by bit, it disappeared. Peter wondered if her invisibility was growing over it, then a thick swath disappeared right from the middle of her hand. He realized she was licking it away, and he actually moaned aloud.

"We're gonna have to wrap this up," she said breathily

"Already?" Peter cried, suddenly feeling like punching a hole in a wall. Several walls.

"Your dick, smart guy."

He felt her weight shift as she reached over and fiddled with her pants, opening up the pocket and drawing out what looked like a condom wrapper, though it wasn't foil-wrapped. More like a wafer. Her weight left him entirely and the wafer rose as she stood with it in her hands, then she cracked it in half. The wrapper instantly expanded from being opened, one half slipping off and leaving a rather normal-looking condom sticking out of the other half. Sue pulled it free as easy as drawing a latex glove out of a box, feeling it out with her fingers a moment to open it up.

"Ever put one of these on before?"

Peter tried to think of a way to say no that wouldn't reveal his inexperience _or _make him seem like the kind of guy who didn't wear condoms. He just shook his head.

"Some guys are touchy about it. I'll put it on for you. I'm not trying to embarrass you."

"Cool," he responded. "Very cool."

"What're friends for?"

The condom hovered down to his cock, the expanse of latex meeting his tip, and Peter gasped, his pelvis instinctively thrusting forward as Sue's lips captured his penis in one unflinching gulp.

"Jesus Christ!" he swore. "I thought you were using your hands!"

Her only response was slurp her way up to the head of his cock and then gulp her way back down. This time he actually felt her chin touch his tightening balls. Peter reached between his legs and felt her golden hair bobbing in time with the waves of pleasure running up his body. He ran his hands through her soft, silky mane as she bathed him with her mouth.

Sue must have seen he was on the verge of an early explosion, because she stopped, pulling away until he heard her gasp for air. She straightened the condom with her hands and peppered a series of taunting kisses up his rigid shaft, then he sensed her stand. He could almost see her before him—a wave of breaks in the air, like the heat above a fire.

"Have you ever fucked a woman before?

Somehow, that seemed a much less loaded question than 'have you ever been with a woman before?' or 'are you a virgin?' "No."

"So… you want to? I mean, we can just—" She giggled to herself, realizing how she sounded. "I believe the technical term is a blowjob," Sue continued in a nasally nerdy voice.

He shook his head. "I want this. I want you. I want to… make you feel good."

"Excellent," she said, and he could hear her smile. "You just stay there. I'll get on top of you."

"Little hard to work it the other way."

"True. And… tell me how it feels."

Then he felt the pressure of her on him—her hands steadying her on his chest, her leg thrown over his lap, then the touch of her sex against his cockhead. He exhaled softly; it felt like it had when she's been jacking him off, only all around him now, tighter, warmer. And with each slow inch, it felt like she was inhaling him. Breathing him into her body, gently, gently, easing him into being part of her.

"Peter…" she said quietly.

His hands were locked on the bench underneath him, splintering the wood with a force he didn't dare subject her to. "It feels good… my cock feels good. Keep going. Please keep going."

Her lips crashed against his and he responded instantaneously, kissing her, moaning into her mouth, his arms pulling to her lithe body to hold her tight with all his strength. She took more and more of him, until he felt the spread lips of her labia, wet against his pelvis.

"Sue!" Her name had become a mantra for him, a holy word. "Fuck, _Sue…" _He jerked his hips up, wanting to be even further inside her tight grip. She went along with it, pumping her hips atop his body, letting him make his way in and out of her greedy sex.

Her voice went ragged. "Put your hands on my tits again," she gasped from nowhere. "I want you squeezing my tits again."

Peter forced his fingers out of the rut they'd dug in the bench, wood chips falling from them, and latched onto Sue's breasts. He didn't even have to feel for them; she'd thrust them out like an offering. Once more he ran his hands over them, mapping their invisible contours again and again like they were too good to be true.

"Your nipples are so hard…" he said wonderingly.

"You made them that way," she replied teasingly. "Kissing me the way you did, acting like such a shy little virgin—I think you've given me a new fetish. Oh!" She cried out as he thrust up into her hard enough to lift her off her feet.

He husked like an animal, rammed himself deeper and deeper into her slick cunt. Her ass was slapping against his muscular thighs now, his cock throbbing inside her, a tattoo of ecstasy that pounded the blood in his ears and shook his heart in his chest.

"They're tingling right now. Kiss them. Kiss my nipples. They're right here…" Her voice was whisper-thin.

Operating only on some passionate instinct, Peter buried his face in Sue's cleavage. He wanted to be encased in her just as his cock was, burrowed into the core of her. He kissed as much of her ample breasts as he could, but it wasn't long before he could no longer resist fastening onto a stiff nipple and treating it with his teeth and tongue. Sue actually yelped, her hands clutching his scalp and the back of the neck, the contact now heated with sweat. Peter knew she wanted him staying right where it was.

"Oh, Peter, Peter, _Peter! _The other one! I don't want you to stop, but do the other one!"

He pulled himself away with a physical effort, stole a quick kiss from her lips, then unerringly found her other nipple and suckled at it. He felt it harden even more in his mouth, felt Sue vibrate with pleasure.

Sue's voice came torn and haltering. "Don't you love sucking on my tits, Peter? Don't you love how they taste—how they feel in your mouth?"

Peter wasn't aware of anything in the world except the all-encompassing feel of those succulent breasts, not until she pulled on his hair, jerking him free, and the question finally registered. "Yes! Yes!"

She kissed him desperately, and he felt her orgasm in the hunger she showed him.

"Finish me off, Peter. Fucking _fuck _me!"

He grabbed her ass with both hands, for the first time feeling the sweat trailing down her body, and not only held her, but forced her onto his frantic pumping. A wet noise came from her cunt as he thrust into it, over and over again, fucking up into her like a man possessed.

Sue lost all coherence, becoming a disembodied voice that rang in his ears, an encouragement that he couldn't discern from his own hysterical urges. "You're the best—_fuck me—_best I've ever had! Fuck me with that hard cock! Fucking _Spider-Man! _Fuck me as hard as you can!"

Pulling her flush to his body, he literally bounced her on his cock, her entire body flailing with his upward thrusts. Every thrust went in to the hilt and then came nearly all the way out. Sue struggled to keep up, matching him stroke for stroke, gyrating her ass, grinding her cunt against him, rubbing her tits on his chest desperate for relief.

"My cunt's on fire," she sobbed. "I'm so fucking hot!"

"I'm gonna come," he replied, a vestigial bit of responsibility moving him to warn her. "I'm gonna come inside you."

"_Yes!" _she screamed.

He couldn't hold back a second longer. His cock lurched inside her clenching tightness and he exploded deep inside her, feeling his cum fill her, wash back against his phallus. He saw it happen. His cock jumping inside her invisible cunt, then the blast of white that instantly splashed against her walls, flowing and swirling to paint all of her with his mark. He froze, unable to think beyond the fountaining erection protruding from his groin, though he was dimly aware of Sue cooing in enjoyment. It seemed like a gallon had shot out of him.

Peter slumped back against the glossy wall, Sue thrusting against him a few more times to empty him all the way, then he felt her get up off him. His seed ran down her firm thighs, off her calves. He'd been more backed up than he'd realized. Crimefighting must've been cutting into his masturbation time.

He felt her sit down beside him, stagger against his shoulder. Felt the comparative cool of the air on his limp cock, closed his eyes, and then felt her kiss his cheek. He gave a shy smile and didn't even worry too much about what he had to say next. "That looked a lot like the condom broke."

"Electrostatic condom. Lighter than air, autofit, and instead of catching the sperm, it neutralizes them via micro-electricity."

"So I was basically sticking my junk into a wall socket back there?"

"I invented it myself. You'll be fine." His spider-sense did a little thing, like a phone beeping when he needed to be recharged, and he looked over to see Sue was going visible. Finally, he saw all of her. Sleek, trim thighs and taut stomach and high-set breasts and hair the color of ripe wheat.

"You're beautiful," he said plainly.

"Thanks, I know," she said glibly, then she looked at him and gave him a blinding smile. "Thanks," she said, more sincerely. "You're pretty cute, by the way. That Black Kitty woman is an idiot."

"Black _Cat…_"

"So, anyway, Reed always said he thinks monogamy as an institution won't last another thirty years, so I'm gonna tell him I want an open relationship. And I think we'll be doing this again."

Peter's heart jumped. "Oh?"

"Unless there's some cute young mutant you wanna date?"

"No, no—" Peter forced himself to be cooler than he'd ever been in his life. "Friends with benefits sounds good. My Aunt May was so worried I was one of those with Gwen Stacy. One condition, though: you have to call it a booty call."

"You drive a hard bargain." Sue kissed his shoulder. "Oh, and I'm working on keeping two people invisible. So next time we meet, I'll probably be fucking you on the football field during cheerleader try-outs."

He stared at her.

"Oh, like men are the only ones with weird sex fantasies. At least I'm not asking you to paint yourself blue and talk about mutant supremacy." She shook her head. "In case you were wondering why I didn't look for a date on OKCupid…"


	2. The Evils of Necessity

Scott didn't wash the dust of the destroyed buildings off when they got back to the Savage Land. He didn't even go inside the vast, interlocking complex Magneto had built of his native metals. Instead he stayed inside the plane, powering it down, filling out the flight check, letting the rest of the Brotherhood depart to blow off steam. Once they were gone, he left, skirting the edge of the compound until he came to it.

The wing that had once been Xavier's. A monument to integrationism. Books on humanity's great minds, dormitories that had been planned to house baseline humans, and other testaments to peace. All burned down to an amputated limb of Magneto's now sprawling edifice.

The jungle had reclaimed it, opening pathways through the burnt and twisted metal for Scott to follow until he came to the hollow of a tree, growing out of the nutrients of the destroyed kitchen. Already it had grown tall enough to shoulder aside what was left of the roof. Scott brushed the dirt off one of its pale roots, finally pulling out a discarded medical kit. Inside the aluminum box was all that remained of Xavier since the schism. Like antibodies after an illness.

Scott opened it up, wondering if today he would look at all of them, all his lost friends. Beast, Colossus, Iceman. But no. Today, like most days, he was only concerned with the photograph atop the pile. Jean's precious portrait, the Polaroid complete with her handwriting scrawled at the bottom. Loving sentiments that he had committed to memory long ago, leaving the actual ink something of a sigil. The looping letters and neatly dotted Is like a little piece of Jean.

He sat down in the dirt to look at it. It was hard to remain standing under her gaze.

He was always useless after a bombing. Later, he would calm and mellow. He would be able to replay his crimes in his mind's eye, figuring out who had performed exceptionally and who had fallen short, deciding what combination of praise and criticism to employ as team leader. Under his purview, the Brotherhood had evolved from an unruly mob unified only by fear of Magneto and hatred of the human world; it was now almost a team. But it would never be a family.

For now, his mind was miles away from that. Back before all the bombings, all the rhetoric, all the costumes. To the night of the schism. The night everything had gone wrong—he wondered if that applied to him.

"Do you ever think of that night?" he asked the photograph—his red vision and the photograph's own fading making it a mosaic, an impression of the girl he had once known. "Or have you let it go? It hasn't faded for me. It's as vivid as last night. No, more alive. It's like it keeps happening to me. Every day, I make the same choice."

He remembered everything. Bobby bursting into his room in the middle of the night, announcing that the Senate had passed the Sentinel Act. Him and Jean calming the younger students, though some even older than him were in tears. The conference room doors shutting as Magneto and Professor X sat down to talk.

Neither of them had bothered hiding their thoughts, not in the heat of the moment. Jean had relayed the information. Magneto wanted a preemptive strike. Destroy the factories before one of those monstrosities could be built. Destroy the creators before more could be ordered into production. And Xavier, of course, had urged peace, calm, restraint.

They'd talked until morning. It wouldn't have taken that long if they could've agreed. Before, they'd always been on the same page.

When Scott saw Magneto with his helmet on—the helmet that kept Xavier out, the one _given to him _by the professor as a gesture of goodwill—he had known what was coming. He just hadn't thought it would happen so fast. The exodus of those loyal to Xavier. The loss of Xavier's legs.

The attacks.

Scott had wanted to go with them. Wanted to believe that hope and a good heart could save the world. But he'd known the truth even then. Eyes like his never turned back into baby blues. Women like Jean Grey did not fall in love with men like him. And the world did not work as Charles Xavier swore it could.

And now he set off bombs. They had killed people, but he was not a killer. Not in the final refuge of his heart. As much as he could, he minimized casualties. The targets were always property. As Magneto said, homo sapiens tended to value things over people. A million African children dying was a typical day. But the destruction of the Washington Monument—a hunk of marble and granite—that made people pay attention.

He wished it wouldn't. He wished they would listen to the professor and his talk of peace. But Magneto was right. All they understood was violence.

"Scotty…" Involuntarily, his pulse raced, his heart rang. Jean's voice. But not here. He could barely tell the difference, but if it _were _her, he would've felt her mind touching his, as affectionate as a hand ruffling his hair. There was nothing. His thoughts remained alone. "Won't you come back to the X-Men? We want to sing kumbaya and smoke s'mores. It's just not the same without you…"

Scott watched Mystique thread through the vines and ferns that obscured the violence of this place's jagged metal. She wore Jean as a caricature—the graceful stride exaggerated to flouncing, the coy look turned to puppy dog eyes, the voice drowning in sugar.

"It's a good impression," he said tightly, "but it doesn't impress me. A cheap shot like that. Try turning into my favorite comedian. That would at least take some wits." He watched her redness flatten into one shade: her natural, nude color. All but the blood-red drip of hair down her neck. So vivid to him through the visor.

"You think it's tiresome for me to turn into her, imagine how I feel—seeing you fixated with the same girl year after year. Why can't you obsess over Jennifer Lawrence like a normal person?"

"It's not a fixation," Scott argued. "It clears my head. She's calming."

"I could calm you down," Mystique said, reaching up to take hold of a dangling creeper and hanging off it. Her body bounced enticingly. Part of the reason she went naked, he was sure, was so that no one knew if such motions were intentionally directed at them or not. She liked hiding in the ambiguity. "You really want to get over her, say the word. I'll put her back on, you can use us like a cheap whore—bet it'd be cathartic." Although there was something to be said for the direct approach.

"Or I could talk to Mastermind and make him think there are seven Jeans giving me a sponge bath." Scott shook his head. "Not interested."

"She's the enemy now."

"She's not."

"She and her people nearly took Blob's head off in Singapore."

"Who would listen to Xavier otherwise?" When he focused on someone, really looked at them, he could make them know it even through the visor. "We're on the same side. The carrot and the stick. We make the humans fear us, then by opposing us, the X-Men win what little respect they can. It's a symbiotic relationship. Without them, we would incur unrelieved fear toward every mutant on Earth. Without us, they'd just be hippies in fashionable leather outfits."

"Interesting theory." Mystique released the creeper, dropping and twisting, in one smooth motion, to land beside him atop one of the tree's gargantuan roots. "That's what I like about you, Scott. However many merit badges you have, you're not a hardliner. You can see the merits of peace without being a pacifist like Charles. And you can see the merits of violence without being an extremist like Erik. It's because of you that the more liberal news shows call us 'radicals' instead of 'terrorists'." He wondered if her smile now was genuine or hard-won to look so. "Someday we may even be freedom fighters. Wouldn't that be interesting."

"Somehow I'm starting to think this isn't about a booty call."

"Oh, no, it's still about sex. But then, everything is." She reached out to him, and he was surprised by how coolly reptilian her hand felt against his cheek. Through his visor it had looked red-hot. Like a branding iron. "You have potential, Scott Summers. You've come so far from being Magneto's wind-up soldier. You don't just follow orders now, you give them. And Erik's around less and less. Soon he'll be little more than a figurehead. Who would he trust with mutantkind?"

"His son?" Scott asked. And people thought he didn't have a sense of humor.

"Pietro… no. Magneto kills for the cause. Quicksilver kills to impress daddy. He'd drive the Brotherhood off a cliff. But congratulations, by the way. I see he actually followed orders on the last mission. You finally convinced him that slaughtering apes wholesale wouldn't get him that hug."

"You have the death toll?"

"A dozen injuries, no fatalities. You left the authorities just enough time to evacuate, but not enough to bring in the bomb squad." She watched his exhale. "I should've known we couldn't have a polite conversation before I told you that."

"My parents were human," Scott said unapologetically. "So were everyone else's."

"In most of our cases, that doesn't say much for humanity." He watched her tongue trace her lips and wondered what color it really was. "Does it scare you, the thought that you might actually be well-adjusted?"

"Yes. This is the face I make when I'm terrified."

"A sense of humor now. Guess that proves secondary mutations exist." She clapped her hand on his face before withdrawing it. "You have potential. And now, you have me. I want you to lead the Brotherhood when Magneto steps down." Her voice dipped. "I want you to give me orders…"

"You have seniority. Don't you want the job?"

"Absolutely not. The righteous superheroes of the world need someone to go after when their toast lands butter-side down. Times like those, I prefer to be the power behind the throne. You saw how loyal I was to Erik. I can be just as loyal to you. Let me prove it to you. Let me show my unconditional support…"

Her hands slid up his chest, the leather molded tight to his pectoral muscles, and the chill of her skin shocked him when her palms flowed up his neck, over his chin, to his visor…

He automatically shut his eyes as she removed it, leaving him blind.

"Give it back," he said humorlessly.

"I just swore fealty to you, King Summers. Doesn't that earn me a measure of trust? Besides, I have some friends who'd like to see you. They're just too shy to look you in the eye."

"Friends? I swear to God, Raven—"

"Shh. Don't embarrass me in front of the girls."

And then, strange as it seemed, Scott could feel their presence. No footsteps, just the tenor of the space changing, fitting itself to the breathing and heartbeats of four new bodies. His eyes clamped shut even tighter as he froze up like a deer in headlights, fearful of the single slip that would unleash his optic blasts. It couldn't be allowed to happen.

"Здравствуйте, comrade," one voice came, deeply accented with a Russian burr. Female. "Raven told us this is hot shit leader of Mutant Brotherhood, all pretty and big, but no girlfriend."

Scott placed the voice. Natasha Romanova. The Black Widow. He'd seen her do press conferences. Not to mention fought her on the handful of occasions the Brotherhood had crossed swords with the Ultimates.

He liked her accent. He liked it a lot.

"We're sure he's not gay?" Scott recognized—or 'recognized'—the punkish quality of Ororo Monroe's voice. As regal as she could appear, she always defused her own gracefulness with a crude aside or dirty joke.

"Oh no." This voice he couldn't place, though its purr was definitely American, compared to the foreign accents of the others. "Definitely not. He likes redheads, remember?"

"I am redhead," Natasha declaimed. "Could make him feel very good. Very sexy."

"No, the last thing he wants is another redhead. He needs someone to help him forget 'Marvel Girl'. Someone his own age. Someone he can teach as much as learn from." Wanda's Eastern European accent, similar but distinct from the deliberately accentuated act Natasha put on, cinched it for Scott.

None of them were here. It was all the power of suggestion; Mystique throwing her voice. With his eyes closed, the illusion worked wonders. "Like I said, Raven. I'm not interested in your celebrity impersonations."

"Silly boy." The American again. Her voice was very posh, but he picked up a trace of New York in it. "We haven't even decided to take you out yet."

"He is very handsome without those ugly visors in the way," Wanda said, Mystique putting a schoolgirl crush into her voice. "He should wear sunglasses more often."

"If he's gonna wear anything on his face, it should be my pussy!" Ororo declared.

"Strutting around everything in those tight leather pants, in those shirts that always show off his big, thick arms—" the American breathlessly panted.

"I'm sorry, I can't place you. Are you some sex symbol from before I was born?" Scott aimed the jab at Mystique—a reminder that he had figured out she was functionally immortal, countless years old already.

"Noooo, Scotty," she purred lovingly. "Let me give you a hint."

She took his hand—hers were long and tapered, a piano player's hands—and brought his fingers up to chest-level. He felt her brush it over an expanse of cool leather, then fur trim—then warm flesh. Curving buoyantly, up then down then back up. A very impressively sized set of breasts.

"That cat burglar from New York. The one Toad is always staring at online…"

"Black Pussy?" 'Natasha' asked innocently.

"Call me Felicia," the American said. "And _enough _of the foreplay. Let's see what fearless leader's packing where it really counts."

Scott felt and heard his zipper rolling down his crotch. This was a test. Mystique calling his bluff on whether he was really over Jean, or whether he was an X-Man at heart. He'd expected something like this from Magneto's truest believer, but he thought it'd be a test of bloodlust—Mystique wanting him to kill some mutie-hater or other. Trust Raven to be more subtle than that.

He decided to lay his cards on the table as well. Call her bluff. He had no loyalty to Jean. Whatever resistance he'd put into his body's burgeoning arousal, he stopped. As Natasha's short, callused fingers wrestled him out of his underwear, he grew to his full length, giving into the fantasy of the four women really being there.

"Well, well!" Ororo chimed. "Guess he's not compensating for something after all."

"Bigger than Pietro's!" Wanda gasped, and Scott wondered if Raven was speaking from experience.

"I've seen bigger," Felicia quipped.

"So comrade Scott passes big boy test with flying color," Natasha puffed out dismissively. "But it takes more than big пенис making boyfriend material. We need to apply taste test."

"Oh yes, we do! We certainly do!" Wanda cried, Scott imagining her hands pressed up to her cheeks. Assuming she wasn't just a third head on Mystique's shoulders.

"So then," Ororo said, and Scott could swear he heard a rush of zipper parting leather. "Who goes first?"

"We could pick straws?" Wanda suggested.

Felicia made an MMMM noise that put Scott in mind of her pleasuring herself as she awaited her turn. It was probably supposed to. "He's going to be the boss, right? Let's let him pick."

"Watch him pick a white girl first," Ororo snorted.

"It's his choice!" Wanda said defensively.

Felicia spoke next. "Who do you want, Scott? But keep in mind, you get to try all of us." He thought he caught a hint of Raven slipping in at the end there.

Scott remembered the sex tape of Tony Stark and Black Widow that had gone viral. Natasha's breasts jiggling one way as she rode him, then another as he took her from behind, always seeming impossibly perky. Though they weren't as big as Felicia's, any man who criticized them was a fool.

"Natasha." He let his voice caress the name as he said it.

"Thought so," she quipped as her knees hit the floor.

He felt her kiss his parted thighs, her lips burning through his trousers, then she brought her lips to the side of his shaft. They parted, traveling up and down to encompass his cock inch by inch, until finally all of his swollen cockhead had slipped inside. Then they shut tightly, forming a vacuum seal over his penis that only grew tighter as Natasha slipped further down his length.

"Not bad!" Felicia said admiringly.

"Lots of practice," Ororo sneered.

"Or maybe she's just a natural," Wanda said, and Scott wondered how Mystique could speak so eloquently with her mouth full before deciding that was a mental image he didn't want to dwell on.

He reached out to grip Natasha's—Raven's—head, even as self-aware a man as him not able to resist the feeling of power that came from that position, but his hands were grabbed by two other pairs. Even as he felt Natasha's callused fingers braced on his thighs, Felicia brought his left hand up to feel one of her prodigious breasts, while Ororo—or was it Wanda?—claimed his right hand for her sex.

He could only imagine what kind of morph Raven had put herself through to accomplish this seamless illusion—he imagined her as the six-armed Kali and it seemed like a fitting choice. Goddess of destruction.

"I can see you thinking," Felicia chided, running her sly thief's hands over his chest. As if this were a signal, he then felt the two sets of hands pry his shirt over his head. "Don't think. You never have to think with us. Just relax. Enjoy."

"We're your muses," Ororo breathed, voice strained with enjoyment of Scott's efforts between her legs. "Your harem. You can trust all of us, because we're all one. No jealousy. No dewy-eyed looks at Wolverine…"

"I wanna kiss him," Wanda interrupted, just as Scott's pique rose. And she did, her mouth suddenly on his, tongue dancing nervously with his. She was as soft and vulnerable as Jean had been, once. It was an illusion, but a convincing one.

She pulled away, leaving his lips wetly branded. Somehow he _felt _her gaze on his cock. "Oh my." The words were so affected as to give him a mental image of her, wide-eyed and jaw slack. "He's really big!"

Scott puffed out air at the clumsy come-on. Maybe Raven was just staying in-character, but did she really think he was the kind of guy who needed to be told he had a porn star dick?

"Maybe… too big," Wanda continued fearfully.

"Just the right size for me then," Felicia answered, prying Scott's hand from her breasts. And, impossibly, he felt her tongue lavishing itself on the texture of his scrotum, sucking whorishly on his testicles, even gently nibbling at the slack skin. "Move over," she ordered.

Scott heard a pop as loud as a champagne bottle as Natasha left his cock. It only spent a split-second in open air before it was seized on by Felicia. What her costume promised, she delivered, deep-throating him like a pro, taking him to the back of her gullet without ever gagging.

"Boize Mo!" Natasha cried, gasping for breath. "Now that is skill!"

Considering it was Mystique praising herself, that said more about Raven's ego than her ability. Not that she was lacking in that department, Scott thought, his fabled self-control now tested to the limit by both the blowjob and the insinuation of two women fighting over his cock.

"If only you could see her, bossman," Ororo said. "Those cheeks of hers are pulled nice and tight, she's looking up at you like she wants to burn a hole in your skull."

While she said this, 'Natasha' took his free hand and brought it to her voluptuously well-formed ass. He squeezed it appraisingly.

By the panting gusts of air hitting his body, he could imagine all four women crowded around his parted legs, watching from just off to the side as Felicia went down on him.

"That's it, Cat, that's it!" Wanda cheered. "Keep going! Suck him for all of us!"

"Her? What of him?" Natasha asked. "Amazing he has not come already!"

"What a waste if he did come," Ororo muttered. "I haven't gotten one lick!"

"Storm's right," said Wanda. "Felicia, you have to share."

Scott's manhood was left throbbing with need as Felicia pulled free, leaving him with a thick strand of saliva that connected them for a moment before it broke to fall against his testicles.

"Fine!" Felicia murmured discontentedly. "The sooner this little lipstick party is done, the sooner I can have him in my pussy."

"If he chooses you," Wanda reminded her primly.

"My turn, bitches," Ororo announced.

She dove down onto his shaft so fast that Scott could hear her earrings jangle, delivering an open-mouthed kiss to his helmet that grew and grew. It took her some effort to swallow him, but that just made it better. What she lacked in talent, she made up for in enthusiasm. She gyrated up and down, back and forth, sucking a little more of him between her lips each time she descended.

Scott groaned, his hands now taken by Natasha's callused ones, pinned above his head. Maybe whatever transformation Mystique was doing, she couldn't maintain a pair of breasts and a wet pussy for him to fondle. Blinded and only able to touch the rough bark of the tree behind him, the feel of the blowjob was even more overwhelming.

"I wanna taste!" Wanda exclaimed, like a whiny little sister left out of the older kids' play. Storm pulled back on his cock and he heard the unmistakable sound of a kiss, both women's lips encompassing his cock as their tongues slid together, each different, each amazing.

The loudest sound in the world was Ororo's mouth as she sucked him, more confidently now, bobbing up and down as fast as a trip hammer. She stopped only to let Wanda take over, the younger woman just blowing on his saliva-slick manhood.

"Give me more of that precum," Ororo ordered. "I love the feel of it when I'm rubbing it inta my skin."

Their hands were all over him—Felicia's and Ororo's and Wanda's, stroking his legs, his broad shoulders, his arms, caressing his chest and toying with his nipples, a slender finger even being pressed to his lips for him to suck on. He spat it away.

"I don't want that. I want to fuck you. Give me my visor back."

He heard the soft sound of Raven's transformation, perhaps played up for his ears, and the hands were gone. All but a single pair that opened his hand and dropped his visor in. He put it back on to find Raven kneeling between his parted knees, coquettishly biting a fingernail.

"Call me a romantic, but it's better in the dark. I don't have to just be anyone; I can be everyone." She gave his cock a parting kiss, as if in temptation, but he was resolute. "Fine. Who do you want me to be? Just don't ask me to turn into Sue Storm. I ran into the webhead wearing that form and things got… interesting."

Scott forced himself to focus, tearing himself away from the enticing question. Raven was right. He could be leader. He could even trust Raven to be his right hand. But even if he wasn't foolish enough to think he could give her orders, he at least had to achieve equity. She had to see him as an equal, not a catspaw. Just as she'd toyed with red hair, he had to go for her weak spots. And as good an armor as that blue skin was, he knew one way in.

"Rogue," he said confidently.

Even in shades of red, he could see her falter. "_Why?_"

So she did know about Rogue's little crush on him. Good. "Because I want to know what your daughter looks like when I'm fucking her."

She shifted slowly, drawing it out. Rogue didn't have a sexpot body like the sirens Raven had tempted him with before. She was slender and fair, her paleness even showing through his world's shades of red—breasts small but well-formed, stomach trim, legs long. Shy and unassuming, she wasn't the most obvious choice for a fantasy object: maybe that was the reason Mystique hadn't expected her, or maybe it was just that she'd raised the girl since birth.

Rogue dropped back into repose, her legs canted open, a white stripe through her brown pubic hair. That was what he liked about Raven. She was so adaptable. "C'mon, sugah. You gon be mah first?"

Scott stepped between her legs, parting them further with the toe of his boot. His cock upthrust as if he were threatening her with it. He knelt over her, grasping her white thighs—the thighs of her adopted daughter—and caressing them, making it clear he was enjoying the feel of _this _flesh. And he looked Raven in the eye. He knew his visor's ruby-quartz was a mirror. As he entered her—his engorged cockhead fitting to her slender cunt, taking his time so she could loosen this form's virgin hole to suit him—Raven saw the face she was wearing reflected back at her.

As he'd expected it, the taboo—one of the few Raven had not yet flounced—excited her.

"All of it!" she demanded, her own voice shining through Rogue's mouth as she squirmed and writhed upon his invading cock.

He gave her exactly that, but on his timetable, not hers. Scott felt his orgasm, long-threatened, building in his balls as they pressed against her ass. He held the penetration for an eternal moment, savoring the pleasure, making Raven face the realization of what she was doing in her daughter's guise. It aroused both of them, and like the fact had formed a link between their minds, they moved at the same instant.

As she flung her arms around his strong shoulders, fingernails raking his back, he drove himself into her as hard as he could, actually gaining a half-inch of her flesh before he pulled back just long enough to make room to jam himself back in. And he did it again and again, each time her cunt fitting to him like a glove, clinging to every inch of his cock.

When he pulled back, her arousal trickled from her, running down toward the crack of her ass before the leak was sealed once more. Her legs flew up and clamped around his rutting flanks, heels locking at the small of his back as her hands were pressed flat between his shoulder blades. He was locked up in her.

"Fuck me, dahlin'!" Rogue/Raven demanded, her voice cracking, slipping between that of her daughter and her own with a misplaced Southern accent. "Fix me to cum! Oh mah Gawd! _Fix me to cum!"_

Scott kissed her passionately. Her lips were as cold as Mystique's reptile skin. "Your daughter's a real whore, Raven."

That did it for Raven. He could sense it. Her body clenching in long waves that reached a peak, ebbed, then soared up to another peak, each going higher. As he kept fucking her, she flickered like a bad TV, her daughter's shade of red darkening like something growing hotter in thermal vision, becoming her own blue skin. "Sheee-itt! Sheeit! Shit!" she cried, Rogue's southern-fried voice deepening into her real one as the wavelengths shortened, peaks coming closer together.

She was Mystique as she bit her lower lip, as her head rolled from side to side, as she gave voice to the bliss rampaging inside her. She'd been struggling to hold back her orgasm, and with it her relaxing return to her true form, until he'd spent himself inside her, but it was useless. She looked up at him in surrender and saw her own face reflected back in his visor.

But she still, as always, had one more card to play. "Master," she whimpered breathlessly, putting all her emotion into the word.

As she'd hoped, Scott lost himself to that word, to her obedient submission. Entering her to the hilt and nearly beyond, his cock went off like a cannon. Even Raven had to gasp as he gave her a flood of his cum, not in a few gulping bursts, but all in one geyser. He poured himself into her with a burst that went on and on; he was still spilling inside her when rivulets of him escaped to soak her crotch, her thighs, her ass.

"If only we could've done that in front of the others," Raven said. "Now _that _would get the troops' respect."

She melted before him, smiling not with her orgasm, but with the fact she'd gained. Scott Summers needed to be in control. It was so hard-wired into his psychology as to be a turn-on.

And from the look Scott gave her, he knew what he'd given up. They really were on the same page. That's why they would make such a good team.

Still, she could hardly be surprised he felt the need to reassert his authority. Scott pulled himself out of her, his cock softened and shortened by the ejaculation, yet still half-hard, head dripping with both their orgasms. Raven knew the feeling, her own lower body feeling as if it'd been oiled up.

"Turn back into Rogue."

"Why? Up for another go already? That might count as another mutant power."

"No, I've just got a little left. And I want to give your daughter a streak on her face to match the one in her hair."

Raven shifted readily. She'd expected Scott to make a good leader. She hadn't known he'd be such fun.


	3. Invisible Friend With Benefits

"Mm, harder," Sue moaned.

"I _am _doing it harder," Peter replied. "Spider-strength, remember? Any harder than this and you'll probably end up in the hospital."

"I _said, _harder! And spray a little more on me, will ya? I love rubbing it into my skin."

Peter dutifully reached over and grabbed the suntan lotion. He was very careful not to drop it. He didn't want to go down a hundred and eighty meters to pick it up.

He and Sue were bare naked; not so unusual, given their friends with benefits arrangement. They were also suspended atop the George Washington Bridge on a web Peter had built between two towers. Sue had rendered both it and them invisible for some quality tanning.

"I still don't understand how we can get tans when we're invisible," Peter said, squirting another dab of SPF onto Sue's back and massaging it in.

Sue cooed once more in delight. "It's simple. My forcefields make it so light that's visible on the electromagnetic spectrum passes right through us, rendering us invisible to the naked eye, but other solar radiation still hits us, giving Peter Benjamin Parker a tan he really could use. Seeing as you do all your extracurricular activities in a burqa for dudes."

"Hey, they are referred to as footie pajamas, thank you very much." Peter still couldn't quite believe how he'd gotten used to being naked around Sue. Beautiful blonde older woman, regularly had sex with him, regularly made jokes about having sex with him, and yet his head hadn't exploded. Who would've guessed?

Her back finished, Sue let out one last sigh before relaxing into Peter's webbing. Peter stretched out beside her, remarkably unselfconscious about doing a full frontal in public. Maybe wearing skintight spandex for so long had just conditioned him for it.

"Hey, if you fall asleep, do your forcefields cut out?" he asked, a little neurotically.

"No. Not for a while, anyway. They're an autonomous process, like breathing. I just hold them in my mind as I fall asleep and they stay there. Once, I managed to fall asleep on a forcefield recliner. But if I get knocked unconscious, the trauma resets them."

"Sort of like waxy flexibility in catatonics? A psychomotor response?"

"Nah, I think—" Sue rolled onto her side. "I think my brain changed with the rest of me and now I'm able to multitask at a subconscious level. Reed can write on two papers at once, a pen in either hand, completely different things. Two trains of thought. God knows what Johnny or Ben could do if they applied themselves."

Because of them both being invisible, Peter could see her, just with a sort of glossy blue sheen. Sue saw things that way too, stating it was the brain's way of interpreting ultraviolet light and such. "That worry you?"

"Sometimes. Technically speaking I'm a mutant. If I have kids, they're not going to be normal."

"I thought the technical term for people like us was Mutate."

"There's not that much difference, is there? You can throw cars because a radioactive spider—"

"Genetically-engineered spider."

"_Weird-ass _spider bit you, Colossus can do it because one of his genes zigged instead of zagging. Thinking there's a difference just helps some people sleep at night. If you, me, and the Ultimates started talking about 'Mutate solidarity,' I guarantee you there'd be Sentinels with our names on 'em."

Peter reached over to touch her. His hand slid over her lotioned shoulder. "Thinking of joining the X-Men?"

"No. I think I can do more good for the world helping Reed come up with—whatever it is he comes up with. Not playing Woodstock politics."

"So what's bothering you? You're a little too self-assured to start regretting your life choices just cuz."

Sue leaned over and kissed him on the lips, her nipples rubbing against his bare chest as she embraced him. "Anyone ever tell you you'd make a great boyfriend, Peter? You have no idea what it's like to have someone actually _talk _to you when you're living with two idiot men and one genius idiot."

Peter's grin was wavy. "Well, it's balanced out by the guys with metal tentacles that try to kill everyone I love on a weekly basis. And I can't buy booze"

"I buy my own booze." Sue kissed him again. "You make me feel like a depraved old lady, you know. Corrupting the young and innocent. It's pretty great."

"Not bad on this end," Peter said, caressing Sue with a hint of a blush. "So, out with it. What's rotten in the state of the Baxter Building?"

"You've heard of Genosha?" Sue asked, her voice suddenly heavy.

"It's all tumblr can talk about these days," Peter confirmed. He kept an arm around Sue, but broke off the casual fondling to just stare up at the clouds. "Hunting mutants for sport—it's something out of a bad cash-in on The Hunger Games."

"Duly convicted mutants," Sue corrected him sardonically. "So the government can't say shit about it. It wasn't all that long ago that we were sending giant metal mutant hunters out there willy-nilly. In fact, my dad says there've been CIA black ops teams using Krakoa as a rendition site—anyway, it's one of those corners of the map we don't go to. Here there be monsters."

"So, what, you want to go over there and punch all the bad guys? After you bust all the homosexuals out of prison in Russia and empty the gulags in North Korea…"

"I know, I know." She kissed his chin lightly. "No Persons of Mass Destruction in international politics. _That's _the problem. The X-Men _invaded _their country, hit Krakoa, and freed public enemy number one over there. Genosha's pissed. And we happen to live on the same continent as who they're pissed at."

"Canada?"

"The US of A, Pete."

Peter's hand was flat on Sue's back. It wasn't sexual, just intimate. Should that worry him? "I always heard the X-Men were an international team. Hell, they're 'post-human,' whatever that means. Do they even believe in nation-states?"

"_Genosha _does. And they happen to know that the X-Men live in upstate New York, just like Claire Danes."

"Claire Danes lives in New York? Whoa."

"Hillsdale."

"Does that have any buildings for me to swing off of?"

Quite casually, Sue put a hand on his dick. "Shush. I'm too relaxed to get into bantering with you. Let me finish my story."

"Uh, yeah, okay."

She gave his cock a casual pump. "Where was I? Oh. Yeah, this is where I come in. The Baxter Building is a military foundation. We're supposed to build weapons, at least on company time. Usually, we come up with some bullshit about military applications like, oh, here's a super Band-Aid, you can use it on soldiers _and _orphans. But now they want stuff to deal with Genosha."

"Why? I'm betting it's not the first rinky-dink country to be pissed off at us."

"First rinky-dink country that's the country club for mutant haters. People _ship _their mutants to them, Peter. And they run experiments. Reverse-engineering mutant powers. They've come up with biotech that's—it's bad stuff. I had a briefing on it a week ago and I still have nightmares. Arrrgh," she growled in frustration. "I don't want to think about it anymore. I don't want to go over the same fucking arguments—Reed wanting to stick his head in the sand, Ben and Johnny wanting to come up with some Death Star to blast those racists back to the Stone Age. I just want to have a scandalous love affair with an underage superhero. Fucking kiss me, Spider-Man."

Peter was quick to kiss her. He wasn't in the dark about how their relationship worked. If it got out that the leading lady of the Fantastic Four was fucking a high school nerd, it would crowd out World War III from the headlines. And that was an appeal in itself. There was a certain amount of self-destructive tendencies that went with putting on a costume and tell the world's plethora of monsters 'have a go if you're hard enough.'

Plus, the fact that he was an all-A student and Reed Richards was Reed Richards meant that Sue, at the very least, had a type. And she, for her part, reminded him more than a little of Gwen Stacy. This didn't hit anywhere near as close to home as Mary Jane had. And that was the point. It was safe, almost anonymous, and had nothing to do with either of their worlds. They slipped out of their lives and vacationed in each other.

It was a release valve for both of them.

For a long time they kissed. Peter didn't feel much of a need to be inside Sue—not that desperate, electric lust he'd had with Black Cat or MJ or Emma Stone that one time he'd invaded the set of his own movie (jerks had BSed the whole story anyway). He liked the slow heat of their make-out sessions, the coy way Sue jerked him off, the almost lazy attention he paid her breasts.

They ended up with Peter's head between her tits, just breathing in the cocoa butter smell of the suntan lotion as she jacked him in low, gulping motions.

"Okay," Sue said in a bright, somewhat breathless voice. "I'm going to show you how to get a woman off."

He ran his cheek over the slope of her breast. God, he loved doing that. "I think I _know _that part."

"Uh, no. Sorry. You don't."

He frowned at her.

"Hey, no offense. The guys I dated when _I _was seventeen knew even less about the female orgasm. At least you give a shit. So, c'mon; it's not that hard."

"Okay." He pulled his face out of her cleavage to bow to her. "_Sensei._"

"I _said _it wasn't that hard. You've done it a couple times before." She grinned wickedly. "By accident."

"How would you like me to web 'The Fantastic Four suck' onto the side of the Chrysler Building?"

"You'd think a guy that named himself after a bug would have less of an ego. Here." She took his hand, brought it to her lips, and licked his first two fingers into wetness. "Just so you know, Peter: lube. It's not just for perverts."

"I told you I'd get some."

"You missed out on anal the last time. Needed to go to the store—"

"The Shocker was menacing the city!"

"Ooh, the Shocker!" Sue vibrated in mock-fear. "Okay now. Your fingers are pretty wet. It should be fine; it's not like we'll be fisting or anything. Now, you have got foreplay down pretty well…"

Peter huffed a laugh. "Darn tootin'."

"…so you can guess what comes next."

Peter ran his hand down Sue's body, pushed along by her grip on his wrist. He was more used to the feel of her than the sight. More than once he'd woken up to find her invisible in his bed, kissing him, fitting him with a condom, pulling him inside her. Once, he'd kissed her cheek to find salty tears on it and wondered what sadness she was fleeing from to be with him.

Sue gasped as he penetrated her; just one finger, as much as she insisted she could take two right off. He always liked to go slow, make sure. After a few seconds, he added his middle finger and it slid right in.

"Now don't," she instructed, "go in and out. I want you to go up and down, and I want to see how hard you can go."

Peter bit his lip as he followed her orders—jiggling his fingers experimentally. Softly, softly, but Sue still winced in discomfort. No; that wasn't what the look on her face was.

"I know it's not quite as _visceral _was grabbing a dick." Sue demonstrated with a quick pump on his cock, which sent a full tremor through Peter's body. "But it feels good. And there's a little spot near the top. Can you feel it?"

Peter thought he did—a little patch that wasn't of the same slick texture as the rest of her. "Yeah. I think so." He prodded it with his fingers and Sue moaned a little.

"Yeah, that's it. Go a little faster now…"

Peter captured her lips once more, kissing her even as she gasped with the pleasure of his efforts. It was amazing—like he could taste her pleasure. He sped his fingers up, trying to flick that spot inside her with each pass, and Sue's thighs just fell open as she moaned into his mouth. Loud, now. Really loud.

"You ever feel exposed, Peter?" she asked breathlessly, panting as he kissed her throat. "Not in a bad way, not in an embarrassing way, but like you've taken off all your grimy, disgusting clothes at the end of the day—and the cool air hits you—and you just feel _free…_"

He could feel her throbbing around his fingers, then a little shock run up his hand as her hips jerked. Rough, uncoordinated movements. Like she was trying to follow a rhythm his fingers set. Hesitantly, he added his ring finger.

Her hips lifted off the web, the smell of her sweat overwhelming the artificiality of the tanning lotion. It was everywhere—another sheen added to the effect of the invisibility, making her slightly unreal even as her body seemed incredibly _tangible_. Sweat and sex and rushing blood that he could feel rippling into his body like sympathetic vibrations.

He licked the side of her neck, tasting her sweat, and she _sobbed _in pleasure. "Your other hand! Jesus! Other hand!"

He gave it to her. She took it and slapped it against her clit. Showed him without words how to rub, how to touch—their fingers linking, slipping through each other and over her sex. "Not always—" she gasped out, her pedantic voice completely distracted. "But it's like—the second course—of a meal. Once they think you don't know how to, _that's _when you show them…"

She was wet all over, sweaty on her skin, gushing in her cunt. Only her lips were dry, wiped clean by her panting breath. Peter kissed them, feeling the moan that Sue wouldn't let out. It was shaking her throat but couldn't get loose…

Her clit was high and alive under his fingers, pulling his touch to it again and again. It and the spot inside her. Peter sensed it would be bad to overuse them, something like handling his cock after he'd come, but when she was on the cusp—when she needed it—

For a moment he could hear a wetly sucking noise at his fingers, feel her hips vibrate at a fever pitch, a sucking sensation on the tips of his fingers like her very body was hungry for him. Then she _screamed, _the sound real and the noise of traffic, the drifting voices, the soundtrack of the city, all false.

Even when he'd taken his hands away, her hips kept stirring, doing a little dance apart from her body. "You ever feel the inside of your cunt?" Sue asked, then giggled at how rhetorical a question it was. "Right after, I can still feel my sex _squeezing _on what used to be there—this clenching. It's so delicious. Fuck, get inside me. That's enough fingering for one day."

Peter was still stunned by how wet his hands were—he'd had no idea Sue'd had all that in her—but at Sue's invitation, he became painfully aware of how hard he was. As detached as his mind seemed from his body at times, it just took one word from Sue and he plummeted back into biology, caveman nature wanting to be inside the pretty girl and finally having permission.

But before he could move, Sue was on top of him. Peter couldn't care; not when her sex was sinking onto his cock. "I've tanned my front enough," Sue explained. "Time for a flip."


	4. Detention

Usually he'd use detention to get his homework done. But then, usually he'd have his homework done already. Usually he wouldn't be in detention. Usually he'd have time to finish his homework and avoid detention because he _wouldn't _be putting on a skintight costume and fighting crime.

Peter Parker supposed there wasn't a usual for him.

Saturday detention. He sat in the back of the room. Mary Jane was up front, with Gwen, Liz, Flash, Kong—the usual gang. He wasn't up to facing them. Especially not her. Not with the break-up so recent. They still hadn't really—talked.

He had his homework before him, but he wasn't able to focus. None of it made sense to him. He just stared straight ahead. The teacher on guard duty was Mr. Gruber, and he had a simple policy. The school was paying him to nap, and as long as no one woke him from his nap, detention did not have rules. Peter wondered if there'd ever been a very quiet orgy in here. It certainly couldn't make the place smell any worse.

Flash had an iPad out, the others crowded around to see what he was showing him, though Gwen and MJ stayed seated in back of the group, halfway to Peter. Their necks were still craned, though.

"Check it out!" Flash said in a hushed voice. "Live from Krakoa. They're actually hunting the X-Muties _right now_!"

"Bullshit," Liz said simply.

"No, Genoshans got 'em while they were in international water. The feds can't do anything, so they are gonna _eat shit._"

"So you're watching people being hunted for sport now?" Gwen said. "Impressive new low, Flashster."

"C'mon. It's all fake. BS to make people feel sorry for mutants. Special effects and shit."

"Yeah, Flash," Mary Jane agreed sarcastically. "I'm sure the UN is sanctioning Genosha over _special effects._"

Peter grinned and thought _that's my girl _before catching himself.

"If it's real, you really think Magneto or someone wouldn't just curb-stomp the place? It's all just an act. How come you think the X-Men keep dying and then coming back to life? They're attention whores."

"Beast ain't come back," Kong said. "He seemed cool."

"He seemed like your cousin," Flash shot back. "Now shut the fuck up, Deadpool's after someone—so fucking cool—"

Peter wished he had an iPod. Wished he could afford an iPod. Listening to Flash Thompson's guide to philosophy was cruel and unusual punishment, even by high school standards.

The desk beside him squeaked as someone took a seat in it, the metal legs shifting on the linoleum floor. Peter looked over it. It was empty. Which meant—

"How's my favorite boy toy?" Sue asked.

Peter threw up an exasperated hand. "What are you doing here? How am I supposed to explain this to the guys? Practicing my ventriloquism act?"

"Relax." He heard a tapping in front of him, like an invisible someone was poking an invisible glass. "Forcefield, modified with a cellular design to cancel out all vibrations, including sound. Otherwise, I'd get my ass kicked by the blastwave from your average car explosion. They can't hear us, we can't hear them."

Peter looked over at Flash, babbling away. Quiet as a muted TV. "This may be the nicest thing you've ever done for me."

"That's me. Girlfriend of the year. What a shame we're not dating. Bet we'd get a People's Choice Award or something." He felt her hand brush his arm. "So. Don't know if you've been following my blog or not, but me and the Three Musketeers got into it with _Namor._"

"Yeah. Saw it on the news."

"You watch the news? What kind of teenager are you?"

Peter smiled ruefully. "Listen, I'm really not in the mood. I just want to get through this detention, go home, _maybe _sleep if no one's setting things on fire by that point in the evening—"

"What's up your ass? Gimme a chance, nerd, I haven't finished yet. So _Prince Namor _turned out to be a major-league asshole. Like, supervillain-asshole, just with better pecs. I had to kiss him to get him to eff off."

"Whoa." Peter would've expected to feel some outrage on Sue's behalf, but his voice was curiously numb. "Jerk."

"Yeah. Huge jerk. Gonna let Reed science him to death the next time we meet. Buuuut…" she paused, expecting him to read her facial expression, then remembered she was invisible. "Okay. This cannot get back to Reed, this cannot get back to Johnny, _no one finds out about this. _But it turned me on."

Peter turned in her direction, more to convey his look than to see her.

"I know, I know. About as feminist as a Robin Thicke song, but just last night I dreamt Dr. Doom was whipping me and I woke up with a wettie you could drown a kitten in. Sorry, bad mental image. So either I'm a supervillain groupie or I'm way kinkier than previously suspected. What do you say, Peter? Ask this asshole for a bathroom pass, find the nearest handicapped stall, and let's find out. _I am literally asking you to spank me._"

"Does Reed know about us?" Peter asked.

"What?" Part of Peter's desk turned invisible in her surprise.

"The other day. You guys were fighting the Micronauts, whoever they are, I dropped in to help, _you _acted like we'd never met. When I tried to talk to you, _you turned me invisible. _Literally did not want to be seen with me. So. _Susan. _Does Reed know about us?"

Sue made a noise that was not quite laughter and not quite disbelief. Impossible to tell which when she was invisible. "That's a loaded question."

"You said Reed wouldn't care if we were seeing each other."

"I never said that. I said he'd be a hypocrite to care. So he's a hypocrite."

Peter dragged his hands over his face. "Are you cheating on him? Are you cheating on him _with me_?"

Sue's voice was softly insistent, her grip suddenly firm on his hand. "It's not cheating if he doesn't care."

"If he doesn't care, why haven't you told him?"

"Because he doesn't _need _to know, he doesn't _want _to know! All it would do is bother him."

"So why are we doing this if it bothers him? I wouldn't sleep around on MJ if it bothered her!" If they were still dating. Felt like they were, sometimes.

Sue was pleading. "He'd get used to it. Peter, I know him. He would _freak out, _at first, because he wouldn't know what it meant, he wouldn't know how to be mature about it and understand that I have some needs he can meet and some needs you can meet. But once he'd thought about it, he'd come around."

Peter was relentless. "So tell him."

"Why? Why make it an issue when it _doesn't have to be? _What, do you want to commiserate with him about how loose my pussy is?"

"You're being defensive."

"You're calling me a slut."

"I never said you were a slut!"

"You implied."

"Well, maybe you're projecting."

"So I'm saying I'm a slut."

"You're feeling guilty and that's why you're not telling Reed."

"I'm not telling Reed because I _love him _and I want to spare his feelings. You _broke up _with your girlfriend because you love her, don't tell me how to work a relationship."

"Oh, yeah, you're twenty-five, you know fucking everything—"

"There a problem, Mr. Parker?" Gruber called from under the magazine shading his face.

"Uh… no, sir."

"I'm having a dream about Jennifer Aniston," Gruber announced. "No more wakey-wakey or I'm telling you all about it."

Flash spun in his seat and hissed "Hang up your Bluetooth and shut the fuck up, Parker."

"Yeah, I'm… it's off." After a moment, Peter gave Flash the finger, but the jock had turned back around.

Staring at the iPad screen.

"This blows," Kong said. "The X-Men are just playing hide and seek!"

"Yeah, when someone talks about hunting people for sport, you never think it involves a duckblind," Liz added.

"Any minute now," Flash said faithfully. "Any minute my man Deadpool's gonna jack some fool."

Peter reached over to the seat Sue had taken. Empty air. Maybe she was giving him the silent treatment, maybe she'd already left. Up ahead, Flash groaned in frustration as his iPad cut from a live-stream of a security camera's view of an empty jungle visage to go back to Mojo Adams, the host of Hunt For Justice and the man with the most lawsuits ever filed against him in the World Court.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," the fat albino said, "the cowardly X-Men continue to run and hide rather than face our hunters in honorable combat. A sad, sad state of affairs, and quite petulant of them, refusing to pay for their crimes by providing the world with its balance in entertainment. But here on Krakoa, we strive to be educational as well as entertaining. That's why we will not only be showing you live video proof of natural-born humanity's innate superiority to mutant abominations, we will also show you the depraved mating practices of these creatures—behavior they would force upon your sons or daughters without a second's thought!"

The feed cut to a room that looked to Peter like a kennel in all those action movies where a hero had to get his wounds stitched up by a vet. A pretty redhead and a rough-looking bruiser, both handcuffed and in leather uniforms, were shoved inside. The bruiser Peter recognized as Wolverine from the numerous times he'd had his life ruined, while the redhead he eventually made out as Jean Gray. Both were wearing collars that Peter hadn't seen on them before—he guessed some kind of additional restraint.

"Aw, sick, dude, they're gonna make 'em screw?" Kong asked.

"Nah, it's like I said, man," Flash argued. "They're like celebutards releasing a sex tape. It's all for PR."

"I heard that those two won a poll for the two X-Men people would most like to have a threesome with," Liz said.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Classy. So classy."

The way they crowded around the screen blocked it from view. Not that Peter was too interested. He thought he'd had enough of sex for a while.

"I'm sorry," Sue said at last. She was behind him. Hiding, maybe. "It was really uncool of me to make people think you use a Bluetooth."

"S'okay."

"I'm not a slut."

"I didn't say you were."

"You're the only other guy I've been with. I really like you, y'know. If it were just sex, I'd fuck some random dude. I don't want random. I want you. I want what we have—not quite safe and not quite dangerous. It's just good. I think it's what normal feels like."

Her words were too heartfelt for him to know what to do with. "Gwen…"

"I'm not saying I love you or anything, or that I want a relationship. But I want your life to be better. And don't tell me having a cute blonde stop by every now and then to fuck your brains out isn't an improvement on mooning over the ginger over there."

"It's not—it _is, _yes. It's just hard for me not to notice that when we have sex, you're always invisible. You're not _there_, Sue."

"Oh, God, are we talking to a marriage counselor? I don't want to figure out my issues, Peter. I know I have issues. I want to fuck around because I'm a hot girl in my twenties and that's what we _do._ And if _me _being invisible is a problem—"

Ahead of him, the backs of Mary Jane and Gwen's clothing turned translucent. They didn't notice, but all of a sudden he could see pert asses, the sides of their rounded breasts, even Gwen's lower back tattoo in all its glory.

He really wished that didn't give him a hard-on.

"Sue, you can't just expose people without their consent—"

Her voice was right in his ear now, brisk breath tickling his sideburn hair. "Stop pretending you're such a goody little two-shoes. You put on a gimp suit and beat people up for fun. Just because it's in primary colors doesn't mean it's not fucked up. I'm not asking you to rob a bank. I'm not saying you should break Doc Ock's neck. Just be a little naughty. Stop making your whole life about living up to an impossible standard. That's what Reed does, locking himself up in a lab for weeks at a time so he'll get a pat on the head from daddy. That's him. That's not _you. _You're a _kid_ still. You can have fun, so have fun with me."

He felt her tongue travel up his cheek. Really wished that didn't give him _more _of a hard-on.

"Be bad. Just a little, when it won't hurt everyone. I promise you, I _promise you, _you'll go back to being a good boy in half an hour's time and you'll be so much better at it because you'll know you don't _have _to be perfect. You can just be you, Peter Parker. You're enough. You, Peter Parker, Spider-Man, you're enough _for me."_

Peter didn't know what to say to that. He didn't have to.

Suddenly, Logan was sitting where he sat, staring at two jailbait asses and feeling an invisible sorority girl pop his belt buckle.

"So what d'ya say, stud? Take me behind the bleachers and give this bad boy a work-out?"

Logan blinked a few times. "Invisible Girl, right?"

"Invisible _Woman_."

"So why don't you get under the desk and give it a work-out right here?"

His senses were even worse than the inhibitor collar had made them—he felt blindfolded, stuffed up, and deafened. But he could still tell when a girlie was in heat. 'Specially when she was rubbing up against him.

"I like the way you think, Parker." Her voice was muffled, coming through the writing surface of his desk. "And please—be rough with me."

Logan felt his legs being spread and his zipper pulled down.

Well, he had no idea where he was, but he thought he could get to like it here.


	5. Girls on Film

While Peter had been discussing his lack of a relationship with Sue, many thousands of miles away, Jean and Logan had been negotiating their own impasse.

Both were uncomfortable with their situation. They'd known what they were getting into when they volunteered. The other X-Men, the less powerful ones—the kids—were being hunted on Krakoa. A mass slaughter, then the more popular X-Men would be hunted down one at a time. But viewers were getting anxious waiting for the big-leaguers to come out to play, so Mojo had offered his sponsors a compromise. While the originals waited for their turn at the gallows, they could perform for the cameras. And in exchange, some of the younger X-Men would be released back to the States. Showing the mercy and compassion of the Genoshan government.

It'd been a crummy deal, but Jean didn't value her virtue enough to turn it down. Logan, of course, didn't give a shit. From the advice he gave her—"Forget about the cameras. Act natural."—he'd been in his share of sex tapes.

But she still couldn't believe she'd be fucking on camera. Even if it was to save lives. What's worse, the very offensiveness of her situation seemed to be appealing to her. She could feel her body flushing under her leather clothes. She'd never been more attracted to Scott than when he'd turned supervillain, and now, even after the train wreck of her relationship with Logan, she felt herself drawn to him once more. He could be good-looking in the right light. And she knew what he could do.

_I'm nervous, _she sent to Logan. Her inhibitor collar blocked out most of her power, but she thought she still had five percent. She just had to wait for the right moment and not let on to her captors that she had any power at all. Just being able to communicate with her friends without their captors knowing was something.

_Don't be, _he sent back. _Nothing you ain't done before._

_Is that really all you're thinking about?_

_No. I'm hoping you've learnt a thing or two since then._

Jean gritted her teeth. She felt anxious more than uncomfortable as she approached Logan. Around them, she could hear the soft whirring of the cameras, trained on the closing distance between them.

_I'm impressed you've managed to be an asshole at a time like this. Most people would just give in, be a human being._

They kissed. Jean felt his tongue slide roughly into her mouth like a conqueror's flag. One set of callused fingers rose to knot in her silky hair. Jean could feel her whole body trembling as he kissed her, but Logan was enjoying himself. She could tell. She felt it against her thigh.

_Human? Since when? I'm one-part mutant, two-parts animal. Ask anyone. Thought you liked that about me._

_Liked it better when I didn't know you._

_Less scary that way?_

_Less annoying. You don't scare me._

_No. No, I turn you on._

Jean hated to admit he was right. Hated that he knew it, too. She remembered all the times she had looked at Logan after he'd admitted to his plan to kill the Professor. She'd felt hatred in her heart like a red-hot poker had been plunged into her chest. Now she knew why she'd hung onto that rage for so long. It was good cover for the other thing she felt.

He put his hand right on her crotch, squeezing it right through leather pants and satin panties. She whined. Jean still couldn't believe she was doing this, but she didn't want to stop. She didn't ever want to stop.

"Kept it nice and warm for me, didn't ya darlin'?" he said aloud.

Jean's eyes shot open. She focused all her mental energy into telepathic rapport. _Can you just shut the fuck up while we do this? I'm having a hard enough time as it is._

_No ya ain't. But you're gonna. _He drew her hand to his groin. He was hard and ready, as fast as he'd ever been during their brief affair. In fact, maybe there'd been less warm-up. Maybe he was getting off on all this. It'd be just like him.

She tried to forget about the cameras, about the past, about Logan. Just focus on his big cock and how good it would feel inside her. It was just coitus. Nowhere near as intimate as the psychic bond she'd used to share with Scott. She would do it, she would enjoy it as best she could, and that would be the end of it.

"Yeah," Logan drawled as her hand traveled up his restrained dick. "Knew you wanted another go at me. Nice of these Genoshan boys to give you an excuse, huh?"

Jean's eyes flared, a heat not unlike tears but far more satisfying. That _did it._

Logan's face went blank, his eyes unfocused, his tongue nearly lolling out of his mouth. Jean popped his chin closed. Just a little exercise in psychic power. The Genoshans would never know the difference. And Logan would wake up having missed out on the greatest sex of his—

Suddenly, Logan's eyes focused on her. "Wha—where am I? Who are you? What's going—"

Jean slapped a hand over his mouth. _Quiet! Mind-to-mind communication only. What happened, Logan? Don't tell me you lost your memory **again.**_

Logan replied—after a fashion. His mental voice sounded a lot different. Younger. Softer. Less swear-y. _Logan? Who's Logan?_

And as Peter stared into the eyes of the redhead who looked a lot like Jean Grey, he reached up to feel his hair.

Muttonchops. Oh no.


	6. The Parker Trap

Silver Sable awoke from her long slumber. She'd been up all night, from 6 PM to the crack of dawn, hunting Spider-Man for the CEO of Roxxon. The bungled capture of the Thompson boy pointed strongly to the real Spider-Man being a high school student, which meant he'd be inactive during school hours, then a possibility for appearances from evening until 3 AM, when he could sleep enough to be ready for school the next morning. Of course, that was weekdays. On a Saturday, he might be in costume at any time.

Still, Sable had assumed he would want to sleep in, and after last night's no-show, had herself slept through morning and noon so she'd be ready to tango with him in the dark. In another hour, her team would be prepped and ready; she always woke up first. For now, she checked her e-mail.

Nothing new, except for some posts on the Shadownet suggesting that Genosha had gone from snuff films to pornography. Usually a step up in the world, but not when the participants were captured mutants. Still, as an international mercenary not rich enough to afford scruples, she might need to work with them someday. She would need to know what they were capable of. Sable clicked the link.

* * *

Felicia Hardy divested herself of her catsuit an inch from the shower. A second later she was under its spray. Even with the absurd amount of cleavage she exposed, nothing made her sweat like full-body leather. Well, almost nothing. Spider-Man had gotten a good rise out of her, before he turned out to be less Spider-_Man_ and more—Spider-Baby.

Still, it'd been a long time since she'd had a good fuck. She'd picked up enough men in college to know that in most one-night stands, she might as well be role-playing their sock for all the care they put into pleasuring her. And pursuing a vendetta against the Kingpin did not leave much time for a social life. Maybe she should've been put more thought into robbing the cradle. The Spider did look cute—what little she'd seen of him before she'd… vomited. On his groin.

Enough _thinking. _This always came of taking showers. Turning off the cold water, Felicia stepped out to similarly stop the steaming-hot bath she'd drawn before it overflowed. She added some perfume for that touch of perfection. The chemicals gave the water the distinctive look of a bubble bath, but when she got out, she'd smell of honeysuckle.

The warm water did its work, soothing her aching muscles and removing what grime her brief shower hadn't. It even made her feel a little frisky. She wondered when Spider-Kid would hit his eighteenth. He wouldn't hold a little bile against her, would he? He was a guy, and she was a D-cup.

Reaching for her laptop, Felicia balanced it on the windowsill beside the tub. Had to be some decent porn somewhere—she followed enough tumblrs. But scrolling around, she found nothing but guys with their penises hanging out, like that was the least bit attractive. _God, _why didn't anyone write good, smutty Buffy fanfic anymore? She'd settle for Angel.

After a few page-downs, she got something. A sponsored post, annoying enough, but this one was bought and paid for by the Genoshan government. And the gif looked a lot like Wolverine and that firecrotch from the X-Men, not being particularly platonic. And it was tagged NSFW.

She clicked the link.

* * *

Elektra steeled herself for battle. She'd already exercised, went through a dozen katas, and meditated for two hours. The Kingpin had grown tired of the possibility that Spider-Man would interfere once more with his operations. When night came, she would hunt him down and eliminate him.

But not yet. Not outside the cover of darkness. She was as prepared as she could be. Now she simply had to wait.

A laptop wasn't as satisfying as having a sparring partner, but it would do. She checked her Twitter: a false name she used only to receive coded messages and keep tabs on Matt. There was nothing unusual. Just a trending hashtag about #XXXmen.

She clicked the link.

* * *

Rogue stared at her computer. Even in the Savage Land, with that nutbar Magneto running the show, the Brotherhood got good enough wi-fi for her streaming video to be 1080p. She could see Jean Grey in all her glory. The redhead looked innocent enough. Even her fiery hair was cut unassumingly short, rather than attaining a sultry length.

But there was a sensuality to her that went beyond the physical. An air to her that said she thought about _it, _that she'd done _it, _that she'd enjoyed _it. _It worked well with her modest, unthreatening appearance. Demure. That was the word for it. Slim yet busty. Athletic yet voluptuous. Friendly yet intimidating. No wonder Scott had fallen for her. No wonder _everyone _had fallen for her.

Rogue would really enjoy seeing her get fucked wide open like a porn star.

* * *

Jean shoved Peter down onto the room's only furniture, a chrome examination table, though Logan's body resisted enough for him to end up seated rather than prone. Jean turned her efforts into a dance—moving her hands up and down her body, swaying her hips to the pulse of the psychosphere. As discombobulated as he was, Peter watched—his expression turning Logan's eyes big and round.

_Would you mind telling me why I'm not serving detention in Queens? _he asked mentally, even as he tried not to goggle at her.

_A lot of people wouldn't question that. _Jean's slender legs turned serpentine as she turned to show off her ass, bunching it and relaxing it inside her skintight leather trousers.

Peter couldn't help but watch, despite the myriad questions screaming for answers. Jean didn't dance like the girls at school, loose and fun-loving. She had a natural sense of rhythm that was effectively sensuous, making her motions more like fucking than dancing. Her hips swayed, her shoulders twisted, her tits jutted out from her offered chest, all calling to him.

_I am not going to be distracted by boobies for more than another five minutes, _Peter swore.

_Alright, here's the deal. _Jean took hold of her top's zipper, hidden behind the X of her chestpiece, and drew it down her slender torso. She opened it right down to the waist, leaving it obvious that she was naked underneath. The creamy valley between her breasts was on full display and her tits were ready to follow them into open air. A light shrug would be all it took to shift a nipple out from under the hanging halves of her top.

_We're on Krakoa, a prison island for mutants. The dictatorship of Genosha imprisons its mutants here, where they're hunted, **killed, **for sport. They broadcast it on the internet. Last month, we tried to stop them. We destroyed the studio and freed their current reality TV star. But they rebuilt it and sent a strike force onto American soil to capture us and bring us here for their sick version of justice._

Peter knew most of that already, but he didn't interrupt. He was waiting for that light shrug. _Okay. Got it. Why the H-E-double-hockey-sticks am I here, though?_

Jean undid her yellow belt and slipped off her trousers. Her hips writhed inside the pair of white panties that were now their only covering. They were very _tight _white panties. When she twirled around to show off her ass, Peter could see the lower halves of her asscheeks, the tanned flesh in artistic contrast to the pale satin of her undergarments. Both clad and unclad flesh swelled into a curve of mouth-watering shapeliness.

_God, I love watching that cock get hard inside your pants, knowing how much you want it inside me—_

_EXCUSE ME?_

_Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to send that. It's the inhibitor collar messing me up. If I could only take it off, we'd already have finished this conversation. Of course, if it were off, I could burn every son of a bitch in this compound into very remorseful ashes._

Disconcertingly, Jean stared at his bulging cock as she 'spoke.' She licked her fingers, each hand in turn with long strokes of her tongue, then rubbed at her breasts, her nipples, making them hard before she pulled at them painfully hard. A moan ran from her full, wet lips.

_I was going to do this with Wolverine—_

_Yeah, I saw that part._

_You were watching this? Pervert._

**_A guy I know had it on. _**_And you're the one going Showgirls on an underage kid._

_Under—how old are you?_

_Seventeen._

_Eh, close enough._

_Post-human ethics?_

_Horny ethics. What, you want to go back to your body before the fun begins?_

_If that means before Wolverine uses **my **body to roll around in trash or whatever he does, yes, please._

_Okay, that's a problem. Hold on. _

Another moan slowly being born from Jean's straining throat, she ran her hands steadily down her belly, her panting increasing the further she lowered them. She moved them to the crotch of her panties, her hips revolving slowly as her palms covered the slight bulge of her womanhood, whispering sighs wracking her body as she enjoyed herself.

_If you know Logan, you know how he can get. He was acting like a complete jackass, so I just lashed out and… sent him somewhere. I don't know how I did it; there's this Phoenix thing. It's complicated. I didn't mean for this to happen, but I suppose I switched your consciousness and I don't exactly know how to undo it._

"What?" Peter shrilly cried, the sound covered by the _snikt _of his claws breaking through skin. "AWWWW! Geez!" he swore as the adamantium retracted.

_Yeah, don't do that._

_Good advice! Thanks!_

_Look, once we get out of here, I'll put you back in your body. And Logan's a good guy. He won't get you in too much trouble. Besides, I think it's safe to say I'm making it worth your while. _

Right through the jeans and untucked shirt that might as well have been Wolverine's uniform, Jean could see Peter's—Logan's—throbbing cock. She could make out the straining hardness of the dickhead and the length of the shaft. She took her hands away from her groin, revealing the moisture that had molded her panties to the lips of her labia.

_Do you want to touch me? _Jean sent, widening the set of her legs and jutting her crotch toward Peter in open invitation. _Because playing along with these sick fucks is our only chance of escape, so I really need you to touch me. I will do whatever you need, just touch me. Fuck me._

_Cripes-on-a-stick, you're lucky I don't have a girlfriend. This crap would give me a complex._

_Yes, **I'm **the lucky one. _She could see his right hand starting for his cock unconsciously. Grabbing it, she instead brought it to her sex. Under her panties. They both gasped. Jean knew what he needed, because she was feeling what he felt: Need. Desperate, insatiable need.

Peter stood suddenly, a look in his eyes that reminded her of Logan, and he pulled her top open as far as it would go. Her breasts spilled out like a dam had burst. He didn't waste time staring at them. He shoved his face into their warmth, kissing and licking the sweaty flesh, feeling its creamy contours, its heat as her cleavage closed about his face.

His cock was so hard in his too-tight pants that it seemed doubled over. Jean pulled at his fly, trying to get it loose, but he couldn't pay attention to that, not when he had one of her nipples in his mouth and was eagerly winding his tongue around it in wet swirls.

"Oh God! Foreplay!" Jean moaned throatily. _Please. Keep going. Haven't had it since Scott…_

Peter tried to get as much of her tit into his mouth as he could, like he was hungry for it. Her nipple swelled in his mouth, making it easier to suck. He kept pulling to her, backing her against the wall and finding her long legs wrapped around his waist. He held her up as he tasted her other nipple. Over his head, Jean's eyes smoldered without focus.

She fumbled at his jeans another long second, fingers shaking until she pulled the fly as wide as she could. No underwear. Typical Logan. But at least it meant his cock burst right out, as hard as could be, the head gleamingly wet with precum. It was Logan—his gruff voice, his rugged body, his hard cock—but a Logan that didn't make her feel like she'd set feminism back fifty years by sleeping with him.

Dreams did come true.

Jean closed her fist around Logan's cock, squeezing to find it was just as hard as it looked. She wondered if they had put adamantium there too. _Just lie back and think of England. I'll take care of everything._

_I may know a thing or two myself._

_Oh yeah, public school? Show me._

And, enthusiastically, he did.

* * *

Scott Summers watched the feed and was surprised by how little he felt. Tactically, he was sympathetic to Jean's position, having her nude body projected across the internet. Even though a post-human woman wouldn't be ashamed of sex or nudity, it was still a violation. But he knew Jean well enough to know no one made her do what she didn't want to. At the end of the day, if she was having sex with Logan, it was because she wanted to. If she didn't, she'd find some way out of it.

And it didn't matter to him. He watched the love of her life with her top unzipped and her panties down, something like his arch-rival on her, and he felt—nothing. Like they weren't even people. Just more shades of red.

He heard the door open behind him. Mystique. He hadn't given her the key to his room and she'd never asked. Just started picking the lock. She'd gotten good at it. He'd never changed the lock.

Raven took in the dark room, the light of the computer, the peculiar way Scott was hunched over the desk. Pornography, she thought. Screens filled with a steady succession of deep-throating, bukkake, facials, DPs. Good stuff. Might give him some ideas.

Then she walked forward to see it was Jean and Logan. And people called Scott obsessive.

Even better, she could see Scott's erection even in the room's relative darkness. She thought of shifting out of her clothes and simply sitting down on it, rubbing it through his pants until he popped. But she knew what guys were like. Had to be coddled. Had to think it was their idea.

She crouched down beside Scott like they were just sharing a funny cat video on the internet. "The X-Men. Poor deluded fools. They grow some balls for once and actually strike out at the humans; this is the thanks they get."

"Who should be thanking them?" he asked without taking his eyes off the screen. "Us?"

Raven bit the fingernail on her pinky in mock-consideration. "We are trying to make the world safe for mutants. Even your ex-girlfriend."

"They can handle the Reavers. Deadpool hasn't gotten a kill yet. Besides…" He kissed her cheek. The casualness of it was almost mocking. "Erik hasn't said we can." His tone turned sardonic. "And he's in charge."

"But…" Raven prompted, grabbing his.

Scott didn't crack a smile, but his lip did a funny thing. "_But _I am interested in how two of the most powerful psychics in the world got disabled by a third-rate banana republic."

"Some sort of power suppressor?"

"Only way." Scott pointed at the screen. "Those collars. A kind of inhibitor."

"We wouldn't want that to get out."

"No. We wouldn't. And it could be useful." He looked at her, finally. "Erik would never consent to killing Xavier, and neither would I. But with this, he wouldn't have to. If push came to shove, we could keep him locked inside his head. Safe and sound."

"Mmmm." Raven moaned her approval as she eyed the screen. "But we couldn't _just _break their cameras and beat them up. The Xs tried that—look where it got them. Genosha just rebuilds. We'd have to topple the government."

"An oppressive regime with a persecuted minority of people with superpowers?" Scott jokingly whined. "How could we ever do that?"

"Leave the country for the civilians. We need a sanctuary for refugees anyway. The island can be our new headquarters. I'd like to take my dog for a walk without worrying a dinosaur is going to eat it."

"You have a dog?"

"Well, Sabretooth."

Scott smiled thinly. Jean and Logan's coupling was reflected in red on his ruby quartz. "I'll sell it to Erik. The perfect time is now, when the Genoshans have to deal with both us and the X-men. I know Jean. She's not gonna stay behind to quarrel with us. She'll fly back to her _mansion _to lick her wounds with the rest of them."

"That is a very attractive gash—" Mystique clicked her tongue. "To be licked."

Scott ignored her. "Where's Erik? Temple?"

He started to stand and Raven pushed him back down. Her hand strayed to his crotch with a slow, rubbing motion. "What's your hurry?" On the screen, Jean was giving Logan a handjob too. "I wonder if I can make you come at the same time he does."

Scott caught her drift, though his face flickered enough for her to wonder if he would go through with it. Then he eyed her. The red reflection of his former lover replaced with her face. "And what if she does more than just jack him off?"

"Then I'll just have to keep up with her. Won't I?"

* * *

Mary Jane excused herself quickly from the classroom. Peter was making some weird sounds behind her and she had no desire to be there when Kong got a hard-on. Technically, Mr. Gruber was supposed to approve bathroom trips and only for five minutes, but really, he just hung out the two hall passes and let them take 'em when they needed to. Wandering the halls was obviously right out, for fear another teacher would catch them and the sweet gig of unmonitored detention was discovered. Plus, you should bring the pass back just in case another student really did want to do to the bathroom.

But MJ had it on good authority from Gwen that quite a few students had taken jay breaks, even had quickies, all thanks to Gruber's hall-pass system. She wasn't planning on anything as naughty as that. She just needed to go to the bathroom.

Thank God it was empty.

Once she was safe in the handicapped stall, she dug out her iPhone and went to the URL Flash had used. In moments, she was seeing the same feed they were watching back in detention. Thankfully there wasn't a paygate. Once it was streaming, she propped her smartphone up on the toilet paper dispenser, then used both hands to remove her jeans and panties, dropping them to the linoleum floor. Thank God she didn't have to do this in the boys' bathroom—she wouldn't pick something off that floor if it was the Holy Grail.

No more thinking. She leaned back on the toilet, thanking Christ that it was actually a full seat, not just that weird donut thing, and set about releasing the tension that had built up for the past hour. No, all day. No, in the weeks since she'd broken up with Peter. She'd had no idea how much she would miss those make-out sessions with him.

Dipping her hand under her shirt, which she let hang down over her thighs in a pretense of modesty, she touched the wetness that's started gathering with Wolverine and Marvel Girl's first kiss. God, that'd been a good kiss. Just like Peter had used to do it.

As she circled her clit in long spirals, an exhale purged her chest from the very bottom of her lungs all up. She'd _really _needed this. Enough to masturbate in school even, which she'd promised never to do after that time Gwen had almost walked in on her in the girls' locker room. Maybe it was gross, she didn't know. All she knew was that Jean Grey's fist was wrapped tight around Wolverine's cock and pressing down hard, drawing a moan of rapture even from the toughest-looking guy she'd ever seen.

"Good God, it's hard," Jean gasped on the screen, almost in surprise. Maybe Wolverine usually needed mood music and stuff to get it up. Maybe he was so hard because he was turned on being watched. Jean knew she was turned on watching them. God, she was such a weirdo. No wonder she'd dated a guy who was part-spider for most of the year.

Wolverine was sitting on the metal table like a little kid, his cock incongruously sprouting from his undone trousers. As Mary Jane entered herself with two fingers, Wolverine spread his knees wide and nearly edged off the table. Now Jean could get right between his legs to tug on him, see him drip, which MJ could barely make out.

Mary Jane could sympathize with Marvel Girl. Redhaired, a little aloof, but sweet six days a week. She could picture herself acting the same way if she had to make a porno—dancing, teasing, making a game of it. Showing that she was her own woman, and the audience was just renting her body for a while, not owning it.

So she was shocked at how _hungry _Jean seemed now that Wolverine was acting so submissive to her. Jean's tongue was flicking at it like someone licking their lips before a hot meal, staring at the cock just a few inches from her face. Its cockhead bulged hugely in her grip. She was no prude, like Mary Jane had been accused of. Not with Wolverine.

Mary Jane had watched with almost clinical interest when they'd started in detention, stripping each other of both clothes and inhibitions. She'd been astonished by Jean's beautiful nakedness. And Wolverine seemed equally impressed, telling her how beautiful he was in soft words that purred with his gruff voice. Yet he sounded like he meant every word. That, more than anything, had gotten to her.

It reminded her of Peter. Whatever skill he lacked in their love life, he'd had a way about him. He'd always made her feel special. And MJ didn't know what was making her so turned on, memories of Peter or just the sex show before her, but now that she was alone, she didn't try to figure it out. She just picked up her pace.

So did Jean. "Hell… Wolverine… you are hard. Goddamn hard…"

Wolverine gasped, perspiration clouding his forehead. "Be careful, huh?"

"Why?" Jean insisted, her fist pumping a little faster. It was still going slow, all things considered, but more than fast enough for her purposes. If Mary Jane were doing Peter that hard, he'd have come already.

"I don't want to—" Wolverine groaned. "I'm gonna!"

Her fingers seemingly white-knuckled, Jean shoved her fist down to the base of Wolverine's cock. He grunted in dismay as a thick swath of cum emerged like a breaking wave, most of it dropping between them but some splashing on Jean's chin. She went fast, her fist racing up and down Wolverine like she _wanted _him going off. Softly cried out with the power of her influence over him as he splatted his own pantlegs.

"You came a lot," Jean said, somewhat unnecessarily. She grinned with pride, not surprise, at how much cum had erupted from Wolverine's hairy balls.

Mary Jane could only imagine how that cock was throbbing inside her tight fist. But Jean wasn't satisfied. She clung tight to his cock and Mary Jane thought maybe she wanted to kiss it, but she didn't. Just licked her lips, even though there was no way she could taste anything.

Wolverine seemed almost embarrassed; it was Jean who was the confident one as she stood up, relaxing her grip on his cock but still holding it, still looking at it. "You're still hard," she whispered so low that the recorder could barely pick it up. Then something that Mary Jane actually couldn't make out—something like "gives us more time." Whatever. MJ didn't care. What mattered was that they didn't stop. So Mary Jane didn't have to stop.

As Mary Jane felt a strong pull at the tip-top of her sex, Jean ripped open Wolverine's wifebeater. His chest was caveman hairy and Jean buried her face in it, kissing wantonly, even sucking on his nipples before disappearing down his belly. For a moment, the saliva from her efforts gleamed brightly in the open air. Then the feed switched to another view. It was just what MJ had hoped for.

Marvel Girl was sucking Wolverine off.

That was enough for Mary Jane. The obscenity of it, the almost absurd _dirtiness _she felt seeing it, had her right on the brink of orgasm. She was just about to let it have her when she heard the door to the bathroom swing open.

"Hey, MJ?" Gwen called. "You in here?"

* * *

"Hey Flash, isn't it kind of gay to be watching porn with no chicks around?"

"Shut the fuck up, Kong."

* * *

Just as Jean had done, Raven replaced her fingers with her mouth on fearless leader's prick. She could've gagged on all the meat he had for her, and had in the past, the first few times they'd been together. But she didn't want to stroke his ego too much, so with a thought, the physiology of her throat relaxed and widened. As Scott bucked against her face, several additional inches of his penis slid with ease into her gullet.

And as she sucked him, Raven continued her shift. Her hair stayed the same, but the rest of her swirled, changed, colored. It really wasn't as hard as it looked. Usually, she just changed the skin and fatty deposits, and with mutants naturally evolving into hardbodies as they did, she could keep the body fat ratio at practically the same level. So Scott could be forgiven for not noticing her transformation until he looked down and saw Jean Grey with his cock in her mouth.

He laughed. "God, you're a sick bitch. I only asked you to change into Rogue _once._"

Raven slurped her way off his cock, licking up the trail of saliva she left dangling from the tip before speaking. Flashing her green eyes at him. "I'm Jean's evil twin—Madeline. Bigger boobs. Evil boobs."

He took her head gently in his hands, almost like he would if he were going to snap her neck. That wouldn't kill her, but it would be interesting. "Any form but your own, huh?"

They'd traded blows, now Raven signaled for truce. "I can't see what's happening if I'm blowing you. You'll have to tell me."

He nodded and ushered her back down to his cock.

* * *

Mary Jane crouched atop the toilet, thighs almost together except for her forearm between them, fingers furiously working in her wet cunt. With great difficulty, she kept herself from moaning; the only sound was the brief patter of her juices as a few drops rained on the surface of the toilet seat. She couldn't let Gwen see her. But she also couldn't stop. She'd barely been able to pause long enough to mute her iPhone and hide her clothes on top of the grab bar. Now she shuddered, imagining the taste of a man's cock in her mouth.

"MJ?" Gwen called, her voice echoing as she looked under the sinks.

Mary Jane had never given a blowjob in her life. Peter hadn't even asked. But now the thought sent tingles across her body; especially in her lips. To own a man's cock with her mouth—to feel it twitch against her tongue as she licked it, the way Wolverine's was doing while Jean stroked it with her tongue. The soft skin getting harder and harder as she, like Jean, sucked—harder and harder. Her cheeks going hollow like Jean's, knowing how much he was enjoying her from the way his hardness pressed against her lips.

Gwen's voice accompanied a creak as she opened the stall nearest the door. "Mary Jane, come on, Gruber's going to notice you're gone." Luckily, there were ten stalls and MJ's was on the other side of the room. She just had to finish before Gwen reached her. She just to keep thinking of having a cock to fondle with her lips, caress with her tongue—even stuff down her throat.

"Is this a Peter thing? If you're having a good cry, just tell me—"

First the big purple head would disappear between her lips, and she'd be wearing some really awesome lipstick on 'em. Then she would tease the sensitive tip with her wet tongue—maybe even use that tongue piercing she'd always wanted to get. She'd swirl his cockhead in her mouth, torment it until he was just about to come before taking another inch of his cock. And another, and another. Just like Jean was doing.

"MJ, I am five seconds away from assuming I'm in a horror movie and running off to find a cop. I know what happens to people who aren't virgins in these things!"

Once he'd hit the back of her throat, she'd turn her lips into a tight little O. Then she'd really suck. Shame she couldn't see whether Jean was using her tongue at the same time or just letting his tip rest on it, because both had sounded so good when Cosmo talked about it. But at the end, she'd use her teeth.

After suffering through braces for three years, she'd drag her straight-ass teeth up and down Peter's shaft, pushing his endurance to the limit before she soothed the slight hurt with her lips. She'd even lap at his balls with her tongue. Letting him know she loved the taste of his—

Had she locked the door to the stall? Because Gwen was standing in it. Gwen was standing there and she was touching her cunt and—now Gwen was taking out her phone. Sending a text message. "I'll just tell them you're on your period. And need to do—period stuff."

"Thank you," Mary Jane whispered. And squeezed her legs together. For some reason, her fingers had started to feel a whole lot better in her cunt. And Gwen wasn't leaving.

"You're watching it?" Gwen asked, though it wasn't really a question.

Mary Jane nodded. Her fingers went a little faster.

Gwen saw the cell phone. "Can you unmute it?"

Moving her free hand slowly, hesitantly, MJ hit the slashed megaphone icon on her phone. The sound came back. Wet. Slurping. Ghastly. Obscene.

Gwen leaned against the wall beside MJ and reached up her skirt, thinking how glad she was that she hadn't worn panties.

* * *

Scott's breath quickened along with Logan and Jean's. "They're going harder now," he told Mystique. One hand was gripping her blood-red hair, the other was cupping her skull. Loosing his self-control, he started rocking his hips, driving his cock into her throat. "He's really—fucking her—in—the—mouth!"

Raven moaned approvingly as he fucked her face. Jean's face. She'd been trying to break him of his stalker crush on her for a while. If seeing his ginger Madonna taking cock both live and Memorex didn't do it, nothing would.

"Better hurry," he rasped, tugging Raven's hair. "Doesn't look like Logan can last much longer.

Scott's subtle bragging didn't bother Raven. If she had self-control like his, not to mention a cock like his, she'd be proud too. But neither were for her. For her, decadence was the only way to live. She wanted everything and she wanted it now; including what was inside the balls churning against her chin.

For a moment, Scott's panting breath fell away. The only sound was Raven's own slurping and that of Jean's coming in over the speaker. The combination washed over them like they'd been submerged. Then Raven felt him flex in her throat. She was relishing the feel of his explosion in her throat when his hand tightened in her hair. He yanked her off his cock, and her surprised expression greeted his cock as it came in her face.

Barrages of hot cum conquered her cheeks, her nose, even her forehead, but most especially her open mouth and craving tongue. She got more than her fill. Yet more splashed onto her breasts, lost in her creamy appropriated skin. Her eyes misted over as she swallowed bit by bit, tasting every drop. Her cunt felt like it was trying to burn through her panties.

Scott let go of her hair, letting it fall against a glob of cum on her shoulder. "That's what happened to Jean," he explained.

Raven glanced at the computer screen. Exactly the same thing had happened—an explosion of cum from Logan to Jean. Like looking into a mirror. Raven shifted back to herself and looked up at Scott. Like it was his duty, he used his fingers to wipe her face clean of his ejaculate, then pushing his wet digits into her mouth. She licked them clean, equally dutiful.

"My turn," Raven said in Jean's voice, taking Scott by the hand and leading him toward the bed.

He walked hesitantly. "I should go see Erik." Raven pulled him along. He barely resisted. "I should at least send him an e-mail."

Raven took a cell phone from her pocket. She sat on the bed with her legs spread. "I'll send it. I take great diction."

Scott knelt down before her. He'd always been good at multitasking.

Neither of them took notice of the action continuing on screen.

Jean's face was covered in cum, but underneath it was anything but shame. Her smile was that of the cat that's eaten the canary, and the effect was only multiplied when her pink tongue came out to lick up the drops that trickled by her mouth.

"Got any more where that came from?" she asked, massaging Logan's balls.

* * *

Gwen and MJ watched breathlessly as Jean spun Wolverine around on the table, forcing him onto his back as she mounted him like he was a saddle. But the wrong way around. Mary Jane didn't understand; Gwen thought _reverse cowgirl. _That wasn't it. Jean got on all fours over Wolverine, backwards, her cunt over his face and her face at his cock. Gwen and MJ thought _sixty-nine_ so close together that if they'd spoken, their words would've overlapped like twins in a movie.

Jean's snow-white ass jutted up into the air, her panties baggy now that they'd been partially pulled away for Wolverine to get at her cunt. Now he craned his neck, trying to get back at her pussy before she lowered her hips against and let him lick her. Even with her lips ovalled on his cock, there was a wildly excited expression on Jean's face that only made her seem more beautiful.

Mary Jane still felt a certain kinship with the redhead. She almost wished she was in the same position. Having a man who was caring enough not to miss a single inch of her box while he ate her out, but with enough cock to tickle the back of her throat. What would it be like to be in Jean's place: red hair tickling his balls as she sucked him off, his tongue struggling to get as far as it could into her cunt.

It was all she could think about until she heard the soft moan from Gwen. She turned to look at her and that changed everything.

They stared into each other's eyes, though their gaze also darted to what each girl was doing between her legs. Being watched quickened their fingers; seeing another girl touch herself pushed them closer to completion. They weren't masturbating anymore. They were masturbating together. They even shared a moan, Mary Jane's hips rising, Gwen's hips lowering, their self-pleasure in elegant counterpoise to each other.

"What are you thinking about?" Gwen gasped.

Mary Jane's voice cracked, her eyes drooped. She couldn't believe Gwen had asked her that. She couldn't believe she was answering. "A big, hard cock in my mouth. Tongue wiggling around in my pussy. If I wiggled my ass a little—oh!—it'd feel even better, wouldn't it? I'm wet. I'm wet just thinking about it. He'd be cleaning me up with his tongue…"

"What if he did more?" Gwen asked, her own voice rushing, seething. "Reamed my ass out with his tongue…" Gwen sighed, long and deep, at the thought of it. "Fuck! Are you touching your clit?"

"Yes!" It sent electric shocks through her body. It made her back arch, her heart race. She could barely hold in the gasps that shot from her diddling like sparks from an arc welder. "And when he came in my mouth—mmm!" Mary Jane bobbed in place like she was listening to a song. "I'd swallow all of it. I'd take him all the way down my throat. I'd be the best he ever had!"

Gwen's eyes were tightly shut as she fingered herself, her lips panting open. She gritted her teeth as her eyes fluttered open, staring at MJ through the beads of sweat falling from her forehead. "Mary Jane…" She pulled her skirt up.

Mary Jane could see her cunt spreading open to let her fingers in, see the three digits going in and out, see the gleaming juices that covered them. It was the hottest thing she'd ever seen. So hot that it took her a minute to realize she was using three fingers herself. Doing exactly what Gwen was doing.

"Do you like it?" MJ asked, her voice desperate. Needing. "Do you like watching me play with myself? You like watching me _fuck _myself?"

Gwen shivered, her fingers knuckle deep in her sex just like MJ. "Yes! Oh, yes!"

"Then fuck yourself! Watch me and fuck yourself! Harder! _Harder! _Put in another finger—put it in like it's me _fucking you!_"

After that was said, there wasn't much else to do but come. Both of them huffed and puffed and fucked, watching the other one huffing and puffing and fucking. All Mary Jane could think about was whether the muscles inside Gwen were clenching Gwen's fingers as hard as hers were. The intensity of their masturbation became almost painful, but neither relented. They had to share the orgasm just as they'd shared everything else.

Slowly, sound fell away: the wet sucking noise her fingers made in her cunt, the grunts and groans from Gwen as she rode her hand, even the spellbinding audio from the smartphone. All Mary Jane came to hear was her own heart, pounding in her ears like it was trying to tell her something. Then she heard Gwen say her name again.

In the end, the iPhone was forgotten. Mary Jane was jackhammering herself to ecstasy. With her teeth clenched as tightly as they were, it seemed like a miracle she got her mouth open wide enough to scream, but there had to be something to drown out Gwen's blissful wail.

The climax she screamed out was shockingly strong, like she'd meant to light a match but accidentally dropped it in an oil drum. She felt it not just in her cunt, but all through her body. She thought she felt it in Gwen's body too.

"I'm coming," Gwen said quietly, as if she couldn't quite belief it. "I'm coming…"

They collapsed together, Gwen falling upon MJ who held her up as they both writhed, panted, sweated. It was all Mary Jane could do to keep hold of Gwen until the blonde was straddling her lap, her sex kissing MJ's.

For a second it was like they only had one body between them. Mary Jane could not tell where Gwen's cunt ended and hers began, where her pleasure ended and Gwen's began. They let out two halves of a pagan moan and it joined between them. Even when the orgasm had ended, the aftershocks were just as good, drowning them in fresh waves of pleasure as they rolled their hips together like they were doing a dance.

"I can still feel it," Gwen moaned.

"Me too," MJ moaned back.

They kissed as much as they could while they collected their breaths, chests rising and falling and brushing together with little flares of pleasure every now and then. Mary Jane raised her hand, revealing to both of them how wet it was. Gwen began to kiss it. MJ hurriedly grabbed Gwen's hand and licked the other woman's juices off it.

"Peter broke up with you?" Gwen asked, after an interval so long MJ thought she had just regained the ability to speak.

"Yeah."

"Fucking idiot."

* * *

From where he was sitting, Logan could see the friends of whatever limpdick he'd been shanghaied into gathered 'round one of those new doohickeys that let you look like a douchebag on the go. He recognized his body and Red, starting it up. So Jean'd decided she wanted to take the car for a ride after all, just not with him in the driver's seat. Fine. Fuck her. Whoever he'd leapt into, kid had one hell of a galpal.

Sue's been rubbing his thighs, kissing on his knees, college girl crap like that, but he'd let her do her boy-foreplay. Didn't want to screw things up too bad for the nerd when he got his body back.

Finally, she unzipped him, turning his dick invisible so the rest of the class didn't riot. He wouldn't have known she was there, except he felt her hot breath on his cock, her wet lips parting to let his crown inside—then Logan jerked violently, feeling his balls crumple with the weight of a sudden ejaculation.

Despite himself, he felt a conjoined sense of frustration and relief mingling with shame as he humped in his seat, letting off another shot of jism. Sue had pulled away from the initial cumshot, and now his blast sprayed thickly onto her face.

Logan shook like a puppet with broken strings as another load fired from his cockhead, and another, and another. With a groan, a last shot hosed into her bangs, matting them to her forehead.

Sue stared at him, the invisible contours of her face revealed by the cum that covered her up like a beauty mask. "You know, usually that takes you a while longer. A _lot _longer."

"Happens to a lot of guys," Logan sneered. "Relax, toots. More where that came from."

Taking a firm grip on his dripping prick, Logan began to beat his tool savagely. With a pretty blonde sweetmeat looking up at him expectantly, he expected it to go right back up to the granite hardness it'd had before he'd given Sue her facial. And for a moment, it did stand upright, tantalizing Sue with its length and stiffness.

But then, despite Logan's efforts, it began to dip. The looming knob at the end shrank; the shaft went from a pole to a bow. Even his balls seemed to deflate. Logan's hand became slushy with the fierceness of his stroke, but though his cock gave one hopeful twitch, it could not stop from melting back between his thighs.

Was it too much to fucking ask that Jeannie put him in a body with a goddamned healing factor?

Sue touched her face, smearing the sticky drops of cum that outlined her lovely face. With a thought, her forcefield extended to cloak them just as it did her make-up and clothes. Before she went dark, her expression was one of disappointment and maybe a little disgust. "I think I'd better go."

"Just give me a minute here, woman! I'm gonna take your little cunt so hard, you'll be able to fit a fist up there."

"Oh, okay."

"I am gonna have you so good you won't even be able to take it. You might actually fight a little, trying to get it to stop feeling so nice, before my cock in your ass turns you into a total fuck-slut."

"My ass? I—yeah, I'm going."

Logan continued to pump his dick, even as it tried to slip through fingers. "Yeah, cum-slave, you're gonna be _afraid _of how much you want this dick—show you a thing or two—show you how a man turns his woman into a total whore—ride that ass into the ground—fuck your little brown eye all night—"

A few rows in front of him, Flash conceded to Kong "Okay, maybe it's a little gay."

* * *

There was no way Peter could resist her for long, Jean knew, especially when it'd been God knew how long since he's had a good fuck back in his own body. She doubted a guy who said 'humina humina humina' had much luck in the romance department.

She knew he'd come any minute, him and Logan's body, and then his healing factor would kick in and he'd swell right back up again. And yet she took a perverted pleasure in keeping him from climaxing as long as possible.

She nibbled at him every so often, letting the pain drive back his orgasm, or just making him moan and groan. And all the while, she kept pouring knowledge through her psychic link, lecturing him on the merits of cunnilingus. As a telepath, she was a good position to know there were barely any women in the world who didn't enjoy being eaten out. And so, as his unshaven jaw clamped on her cunt and his tongue flicked into her wet gash, she whispered into his mind.

_Easy does it. Be gentle with the pussy. It's just as sensitive as you are down there. _

_Just kiss it, kiss it like you would any other set of lips. Lightly at first; be polite. _

_Then French it—slide your tongue inside. _

_Explore what makes me different from every other girl. _

_That's good—good—you've done enough for now. Suck on my clit. _

_Yes, that's it there. Gently now—easy—yes—yes—and your tongue—yes! _

_YES!__ By Jove, I think he's got it!_

Peter had gotten the hang of it enough to let his concentration lapse, shoot back a reply: _Wonderful time to quote musical theater, nerd._

_Wonderful time to go over the formulas for an Einstein-Rosen Bridge to prevent premature ejaculation. You know how you're supposed to eat my pussy, so eat it. EAT IT!_

Thankfully, he did, observing her reactions with a scientist's care for detail, exploring what felt good, what areas to touch, what rhythms, what patterns. His fingers dug into her ass, their callused pads in delicious contrast to the soft care with which he treated her body. Soon, her flowing juices might as well have been flammable, because she was ready to ignite. Her ass bounced around like a basketball, Jean pumping her hips, grinding her wet pussy into Peter's face until she tensed—tensed harder, her body tying itself in knots, pulling together tighter and tighter to make her _break._

She sent fireworks through her mental link to Peter as she cried out in a softly broken whimper, then collapsed on top of him, her cunt trying to cool itself on the cold metal of his inhibitor collar, her ass trembling before his wide eyes. When his hard cock popped out of her slack mouth, he began jerking himself off.

It took a moment for Jean to come back to reality, but when she did, she slapped his hand away. "No!" she practically snarled, not even bothering with telepathy. "Not yet! I want more of your cock, goddammit!"

Pulling herself up his body, she found herself crawling on all fours toward a robotic camera that had taken up position on the foot of the table. She gave it a smile as she straddled Peter, reverse cowgirl, spreading her thighs and her labia so the camera could see right into her.

Then she impaled herself on Peter's cock. She knew the camera was recording every minute detail of the penetration. She didn't care. She refused to be degraded by what the Genoshans had forced her into. If they were making her fuck on camera, she would show them how X-Men fucked.

* * *

"Yes! You like it, don't you? Course you do, bitch! So take it! _Take it!_"

Sable sat in her chair bare-assed, pants still bunched around her calves. She'd only taken them off as far as her thighs, the rest had been gravity. She hadn't wanted to miss a minute of the action on screen.

"Shut the fuck up! Shut up and fuck!"

She was staring, her eyes open almost as wide as her mouth. She knew she shouldn't be gawking at this like it was just some nip-slip, but it was just so—they were so—

"Hell yeah! This is all you're good for! Fucking me like the whore you are! And I'm gonna fuck you just like a whore should be!"

Maybe she should feel bad about watching this.

Later, though. When it was over.

"Who's your daddy? _Who's your daddy?"_

Sable flinched. That had to have it hurt.

* * *

Elektra had slightly more willpower than Sable. She'd managed the discipline to open up her top instead of simply rubbing her groin. She'd also taken off her pants. They were pooled around her ankles, completely forgotten in favor of her fully erect clit and well-lubricated sex. There was only so much willpower someone could have.

"You like the taste of my cum, bitch? Huh? Tell me! _Tell me how much you loved my cum!"_

Elektra was all ears as the reply came: "I love your cum—"

"That's because you're a little bitch! Now lick it up! Lick it like the bitch you are!"

She knew it was wrong to be touching herself like this, to be getting off on two people being forced in degradation. It was completely, unequivocally wrong.

Using the hilt of one of her sais would be no worse, though.

Nor the hilt of her katana.

* * *

Felicia loved playing with her breasts. They were incredibly sensitive; she could come just from a guy with the right moves getting to second base. As tempting as it was to attend to her needy cunt, she let the warm water there handle itself for the moment and squeezed her left breast with one hand as she tweaked her right nipple with the other.

Her laptop's speakers pulsed like they were trying to play a rap song. "Drink it, yeah! Drink it up, drink it, bitch! Drink that cum, drink it all, yes, _yeah!"_

That was too much. Enough foreplay. The water was getting cold anyway. Felicia pulled out the stopper, then went to the tap, scooting her ass up the tub rather than leaning over. The water drained fast enough to let the cool breeze from the window lick at her skin—the perfect accompaniment to the fuck she was witnessing. She kept her eyes glued on it as she turned the faucet back on.

Hot water rushed down with the steady pressure of a waterfall. And she was bent double under it, her ass upturned, her legs over the cold and hot water taps. The water came down right on her cunt, heat blooming directly into her loins as she leaned down to rest her spine against the bottom of the tub. Fucking perfect.

She just had to arch her back a little and—_yes_—the water cascaded into and over _just the right spot, _through her lips, across her cunt, down over her body like a lover's massage. All she had to do was rub her clit and she was _soaking _in pleasure. She could even pinch her nipple with her free hand. That pushed her over the edge. She came with her legs sticking straight up in the air.

It took Felicia a long time to get enough control over her legs to shut off the faucet with her toes, but after a while, even the indirect contact of hot water on her already overwarm cunt became too pleasurable to be withstood. The water off, she let the night air caress her body, ride her through the afterglow. Perfect evening. Perfect fucking evening.

At long last, she rose from the empty tub, her glistening body sporting soap suds like jewelry. She'd let the shower wash that off. For now, she closed her eyes, arched her back, and ran her hands through her hair, enjoying the thought that through the open window, she was putting on a show of her own.

Who needed Spider-Kid anyway?

* * *

Rogue watched as Jean took Logan's hands, put them on her head, and let him guide her mouth up and down as she knelt before him. He was face fucking her. That was the phrase for it. He was fucking. Her. Face.

Rogue wondered what it would be like to have a man's penis sailing into her mouth and back out again, at a speed he chose, for as long as he wanted. She'd stolen enough memories to be able to almost feel one in her mouth right then. She wondered what the real thing would be like. What Scott's would be like?

Delving into patchwork memories, she let herself taste that tiny hint of precum at the very tip of the head. Let herself feel the force of the back of her head making her take the cock in and out, in and out, as much as he offered or as much as she could take.

Logan didn't look so huge. Thick, maybe. But Scott, he would be _big. _Almost too big to get into her mouth. But she'd manage, even if it made her jaw ache. She'd suck him down until she felt the telltale twitch of his cock. Then she'd let him mark her mouth. No one else would ever kiss her lips. Her tongue would speak no one else's name with love. She would coat every inch of her mouth, her throat, her stomach even, marking herself for a thousand years inside and out. Would it taste salty? Tangy? Didn't matter; she'd savor every drop. Milk away every last sperm. Nothing would be left. It'd be weeks before he could fuck her again.

It took Rogue a moment to realize she was sucking on two of her fingers.

Surely, Scott would be bigger than that.

* * *

Long after Scott had fingered her to an exquisitely proficient orgasm, Raven turned her attention back to the X-show. Logan was still going strong, but she'd expect nothing less from his healing factor. What did surprise her was his treatment of Jean.

Raven did not think the redhead was losing her virginity. Not from the way she was talking.

"Fuck me harder, bitch! I want to feel your cock in my fucking womb! Deeper, dammit! _Harder!"_

"That girl has a dark side," Raven said simply.

"You have no idea," Scott replied.

Raven smiled to herself as Jean slapped and rode Wolverine to another exuberant orgasm on her own part. Logan groaned profoundly; his only contribution besides having a hard-on. Jean was doing most of the work and all the noise. You'd think a guy who got his rocks off like that would be more Zen. "Now that's what you need," she told Scott.

He eyed the screen musingly, the first time it'd been reflected in his glasses since Raven had kissed him. "But what would I do with a naked Canadian sub?"

Raven laughed not so much because it was funny, but because it was not at all what _Scott Summers, prize student, former leader of the X-Men _would say. She patted his head, knowing what he'd been going for.

* * *

For Jean, fucking Peter had been one massive blur of naked flesh, coitus, cum, and orgasms. For hours, she was used as relentlessly as she used Peter. It seemed every five minutes he was coming in her pussy, on her tits, in her mouth, even on her ass. Every orifice but her asshole was left overflowing with cum, and when he reentered her, even more oozed out onto her body.

She would've jerked him off, but her arms had grown tired. As did her legs. At the end, she just laid down as Peter fucked her. He at least tried to provide her holes a rest, switching from one to the other instead of just jackhammering one orifice as Logan would've done. And he never tried to fuck her in the ass. A true gentleman. No wonder Kitty liked him so much.

Finally, her throat muscles seemed too tired to swallow. She tried breathing through her nose, but when he took up fucking her face again, she grew lightheaded. Her world blurred, then became black.

She woke up a few minutes later, to a batch of strong-smelling cum impacting her cheek. Peter was jacking off on her face. She watched him come, then moaned weakly. As much as she'd enjoyed making 'Wolverine' her bitch, the reason she'd dated him in the first place was the animal dominance Peter brought to bear on her now, albeit far more tolerably. Maybe she should've stayed with Scott. Boy scout terrorist leader; that'd work for both her split personalities.

"I think I've had enough—" she rasped out, "bitch."

He helped her to her feet. He'd come on her so many times that, touching her, he was unable to avoid smearing the seed that was the only thing she wore. _Think we bought enough time?_

Jean felt too tired even to think. _Unless I have a clone you can start fucking, we'll have had too. If you come on me one more time, I'll turn albino._

He helped her sit down on the table. Mojo's voice came over the intercom, telling them to resume, but Jean felt safe giving one of the cameras the finger. Peter's arms were around her, his touch so different from Logan's. Comforting, not exciting. Sometimes she liked that.

_So who's coming to rescue us? The Ultimates? The Fantastic Four? …Hawk-Owl and Woody?_

_My ex-boyfriend._

"Cyclops!" Peter mouthed it, such was his surprise. _The friggin' terrorist?_

_Why do you think me and Logan volunteered for this? I just fucked his least favorite person in the world for four hours. What do you think he's gonna do?_

_Kill me?_

_Relax, you've got a healing factor. At most, you'll just feel excruciating pain._

_Great. _Peter's claws popped out, smarting as they broke through the skin. He cursed, just not very well: "Fudge!" _How do you turn these things off?_

_I don't know. Say 'bub'?_

Peter sighed. _You've made me miss having a symbiote._


	7. Logan's Terrible Day Part I

Finally free of detention, Logan walked until he hit a liquor store, walked his teenage body through the doors, went unerringly to the Molston, and brought two six-packs to the front. Unvarying routine; it was almost like having his animal senses back. Not that he minded a break from smelling New York.

"Bag it," he said, throwing them on the counter.

The clerk looked at him. "I'm gonna need to see some ID."

Logan growled. It did not have the same effect coming from a seventeen-year-old boy.

* * *

The little red lights on the cameras went out and guards with some very unfriendly fashion accessories came to collect Peter and Jean. They were frog-marched to some showers, hosed down, and given replicas of their old costumes. About the only thing that kept Peter from freaking out about being in someone else's body (someone who was in a _concentration camp_) was that Jean kept up a steady stream of telepathy.

He sent: _So much leather. Why so much leather? Do you just hate cows?_

_It's a special synthetic fiber. It keeps Sentinels from detecting our mutant DNA._

_But it doesn't cover your belly button?_

_Don't talk to me; you're the guy who doesn't have a mouthhole in your mask._

_Hides my Van Dyke._

_Shut up._

_I'm not talking, remember? Gosh, **you're** the psychic._

Again, the commands ending in "mutie!" and the guns poking into their backs, until they were in something that looked like a drunk tank for Captain Kirk. Some of the other X-Men were there, but Peter was too busy having a nervous breakdown to remember their names. Big Guy, Black Lady, Catty Pride, and some girl who had enough piercings to count as a mutant power.

"No questions," Jean ordered crisply. "Everyone on the floor. We need to commune with the Goddess."

_Excuse me? _Peter sent.

_Indian-sit in a circle and join hands._

_Uh, last time I did that, Mrs. Ferguson was reading us a story about how Fuzzy Rabbit didn't have to be scared of thunder._

_Just do it, Parker. You owe me anyway._

_I owe you? For what, dragging my mind into the middle of The Hunger Games?_

_Yeah, right before you got to fuck me seven ways to Sunday. Sit!_

Peter sat down, and very careful not to pop his claws, he linked hands with the X-Men on either side of him.

Suddenly, they weren't in a sleekly futuristic prison. They were in his room. And he wasn't five foot seven and smelling of Old Spice anymore. Just your friendly neighborhood Peter Parker.

"What? Why is Logan not Logan?" the big Russian guy asked.

"Better questions!" Peter ticked them off on his fingers. "Why are we in Queens? What's going on? What's going on again? What's going on times about eleventy billion?"

"Peter, calm down—" Jean called. The leader of the X-Men was sitting on his bed. That was way too much for him to take.

"Explain!"

She held a placating hand up to the X-Men, who were getting agitated by him. "Alright, then _listen. _I told you that my power works, a little. Thus, I'm able to join our minds, but only while we're all in direct contact. It's the same principle as our mental conversation earlier. I thought this would just make it a little easier for you. A lot of people find it disconcerting to have more than one or two voices in their heads."

"Yeah, _that _would be disconcerting. And my room?"

Jean looked around. "Your mind's the most… active. Because you're so nervous and so unused to this communication, your brain's flooded with endorphins and you are dominating this conversation. I'm allowing it, and so we're being projected to an environment you find safe and familiar."

"Safe and familiar, right?" Piercings snorted. "I bet this guy's nearly been caught masturbating in here about fifty times.

"Sweet girl," Peter commented. "Think I know how she got all those holes in her head."

"I am the fucking Dazzler, peasant—"

"I'll handle the introductions," Jean cut in, "unless _everyone _would like to drop an F-bomb. Guys, this is Peter Parker. I accidentally switched his brain with Logan's."

_That_ met with uproar. "Accidentally?" the black woman demanded. "How do you pull that shit accidentally?"

"Well, if I knew that, I wouldn't have done it. But suffice to say, while having sex with Logan's body isn't such a bad prospect, having sex with his personality _is._"

The ladies conferred in agreement, though the Russian quietly disagreed.

"Now then," Jean continued. "Peter, this is Piotr Rasputin, Ororo Munroe, Alison Blaire, and Kitty Pryde. Don't bother trying to remember their names, I'm already uploading the pertinent bios into your long-term memory."

"Gee, thanks. Mind putting in the answers to my AP History quiz while you're in there?"

"So, wait—" Piotr held up a hand. "You've replaced Wolverine, the most dangerous mutant on the planet, with some random high school student? How could you do that? We have no chance of escape now!"

"He's not just some _student. _He's Spider-Man."

"Whoa!" Peter cried. "Time-out, time-out, hold the friggin' phone! You cannot just tell people my secret identity!"

"So he's Spider-Man, so what?" Alison asked. "I already forgot his name."

"And my face? I can't believe you're all looking at my face. Can I get a mask in here?"

"You just think it and—" Kitty started helpfully. "No, never mind, I'll do it."

She concentrated and a Captain America 'doesn't stand for France' mask appeared on him.

"Not what I had in mind," Peter said, his voice echoing inside it.

"Well, technically, it _is _what you have in mind," Jean pointed out.

"Whatever. Everyone, just—forget my face! And name!"

"Here's a picture of him," Ororo said, picking a frame up from his desk. "With his grandma."

"Awww," Kitty cooed.

"Put that down! She's my aunt!"

"I was just going to ask if you wanted me to put it down." Ororo set it facedown on the desk. "There. Cool?"

"No! Uncool! Very uncool!" Peter faced Jean, groaning in frustration. "Hey, Spock, you think you could mind-meld these guys into forgetting the last two minutes? And the most closely guarded secret of my life, which if revealed would threaten the lives of everyone I love?"

"Did he just ask her to wipe our brains?" Alison asked.

"In a nice way," Kitty stressed.

"I'm not wiping anyone's mind!" Jean said firmly. "Peter, you are just going to have to get used to us knowing your secret. We'll try our best to keep it, and we've done a pretty good job of keeping a lid on things so far. But we need all the cards on the table if we're going to figure a way out of this."

"Hey, no offense, but that really seems like more _your _problem than _my _problem. I have enough problems. I'm in high school."

"So are we!" Kitty said.

"I did the slap and tickle thing, and I'll be sure to call you in the morning, but for now, could you please put me back in my body? I'm kinda attached to it and I much prefer the way it smells."

"Can't," Jean said simply.

"Okay, I've seen every body-switch movie there is. We just have to redo whatever you did in the first place. So make a wish on a silver dollar while it's struck by lightning on a Friday, _whatever. _Just get me back to Queens!"

"Not a request you hear too often," Piotr observed.

"I told you!" Jean insisted. "I can't. I don't know what I did, I don't know how I did it, I don't know how to undo it. Your best chance is the Professor. He's forgotten more about telepathy than I know."

"A forgetful telepath is not as reassuring as you think. But fine. Where's the Prof?"

"Don't know," Ororo said.

"You kiddin' me?"

"The Genoshans have him somewhere in this compound, in a higher-security cell than this one. I can't imagine what they've done to keep him from getting help."

Peter groaned again, hands on his head like he was struggling to keep in an exploding headache. "Okay, okay, _move._"

"What?"

"Off my bed!"

Jean got off his bed. Peter flopped down on it, staring at the ceiling, covering his face with his hands.

"My bed. Mine." Peter kicked at the mattress. "Alright! Pretend I fell asleep during the opening credits and I've woken up in the middle of the movie. Anything else I need to know?"

"To what?" Jean asked.

"To get you out of this confusing, silly, dumb, weird situation I've been thrust into with no idea why this is happening to me or what's really going on. It's kinda what I do."

"We've already been over—" Ororo began, but Jean cut her off.

"Angel, Nightcrawler, Iceman, and a few civilian mutants are out in the jungle. They're being hunted by the Reavers: mutant haters with cybernetic upgrades to kill us. They're led by Deadpool. He's an ass."

"And these collars?" Alison asked rhetorically. "Not just a fashion statement. Which sucks, because they're a boss accessory. They're called inhalers."

"Inhibitors," Kitty corrected. "They suppress our mutant powers. We try to take them off and they blow up."

"Tried disarming them?"

"We look like we got an electronics whiz up in here?" Ororo asked.

Peter put on his old pair of glasses. "You tell me."

* * *

Scott lingered in the shower after his time with Raven. He knew Jean was in danger. He knew she wouldn't be if she had joined the Brotherhood with him. He also knew that she could handle herself better than any man he'd ever met.

He did not know if his willingness to leave her in peril equaled his continuing faith in her competence. But he dried and dressed himself quickly. The shower, hot as it was, did not relax him.

He joined Magneto in his office at the pinnacle of the complex, where Erik had unironically seated himself. For a man who believed in all mutants being equal, he made it very hard for people to equal him. Scott knew from experience.

The view was worthwhile, though. The walls entirely translucent, a flower head with silver petals that Magneto could veil himself in whenever he chose. Now, the view showed three hundred and sixty degrees of the Savage Land, the mutant architecture's elevation revealing the landscape from the brontosaurus herds in the south to the roving packs of raptors up north.

It was all red to Scott.

"I received your message," Erik said, his voice booming from atop his throne as if Scott were a mile off instead of at his feet. "You marshal persuasive arguments, young Summers. As always."

"I was taught to operate from logic. Not optimism or cynicism. Now is just the right time to act."

Magneto gently removed his helmet, holding it in his lap as if he were about to offer it to Scott. Throw it at him. "Do you know why I don't trust you, Cyclops?"

"You still think I'm a spy for Xavier."

"No, no…" Erik chuckled good-naturedly. "If I thought that, I would've killed you long ago. Certainly before Ms. Darkholme took you to bed. No. It's love."

Scott walked off to the side, admiring what he could see of the view. "I don't understand," he said evenly.

"Always willing to admit it, too. As a good pupil should." Erik stood. He walked down the few steps that led up to his throne. So few. Just enough to elevate him, merely a head or two above a tall man. "Are you a god-fearing man, Scott?"

"I don't feel I have much to fear from God," he answered diplomatically.

"Mutants," Erik said, an inch or two shorter than Scott now that they were on level ground, but seeming to tower over him, "are God's chosen inheritors. As Eve replaced Lilith, so we are meant to take the Earth from the failed experiment of mankind and be the worthwhile stewards that these homo sapiens could not. And as God's People, we cannot be merely good. Merely moral. We must fight and die for our convictions; the convictions of Heaven. We must _burn _with the fury of the righteous! The fury that smote every firstborn from the land of Egypt, the wrath of Jesus Christ in the marketplace, the cold calculus that let Noah save two of every animal but not one, _not one, _of those sinful masses who had squandered God's gift of _life._" Erik stepped away, helmet under his arm, and Scott felt electric. Like he might die. "You hear of an obscenity against your God and your brethren, and you wait until it becomes expedient to act. You are a shepherd and you have seen the wolves among your flock, yet only now do you hasten. Is that how the righteous will act in the Promised Land?"

"Who says we get to the Promised Land?" Scott asked. "We're shepherds. We don't join the flock. We tend it."

Magneto's wizened face came to hold a smile. "I might have said the same once to Charles. You reminded me of him, once. I miss that about you."

Scott said little. Only: "The most wretched men in this world are those who are peaceful when their lives allow it but violent when their lives are eased by it. I'm not an X-Man. I'm never going to be at peace. But I don't expect I'll get the chance."

Magneto put a hand on his shoulder. "You will. Sooner than you think. And in no small part due to your own leadership. Yes. Yes, I think there'll be place for you in the Promised Land, and a time for me to wander in the desert." He gathered his breath. "I would've done anything to spare Charles the hard choices, once. Now I wish I could take more of them from you."

He took his hand away.

"You're wrong about me," Scott said.

"Oh?"

"I have love. In unguarded moments."

Erik tilted his head to the side. "Love is being willing to burn the world down when the one you live for can only eat ashes. I love you, Scott. Your brothers and your sisters as well. I would do anything to make this world safe for you."

"Safety was never an option," Scott said simply.

"No." Magneto looked out the windows. "Our army gathers at my command, but who do they assemble for? You or me?"

"Academic," Scott replied.

"They'll be ready to depart soon. My daughter among them. Wanda is quite fond of you."

Scott almost smiled. "If Pietro heard you say that—"

"Please." Erik gestured, a casual charge of the magnetosphere becoming visible where his hand traveled. The windows parted along a metal-lined seam. He and Scott stepped out upon a metal platform. "Don't believe the human propaganda. My children have a closeness, but to _actually_ gossip about them lying with each other—humanity has much to answer for. Yet Pietro is overprotective. He does not trust me to protect his sister; she is the only one he favors. As you've noticed, Pietro has not inherited my sociability."

_And you're the guy who wants to turn humans into hamburgers when you don't get enough sleep, _Scott thought. The platform slid smoothly into motion, carrying them through the air toward the hangar.

"I'm not one to talk to about happy families," Scott said simply.

"I am talking to you. Wanda is my blood, and unlike her brother, she does not have a personality to overshadow it. Our people have suffered much at the hands of humans and race traitors. It's given them long memories. If Wanda were yours, you would not only be my successor, but my heir. Your time with Xavier—your _attachment _to his prize pupil—it would be forgotten."

Scott's brow furrowed. "I… have someone."

"I'm aware." Erik raised an eyebrow. "You haven't exactly—_kept it quiet._ Another thing Wanda sees in you, perhaps."

"Sir…"

"Monogamy is a prudish Victorian concept that has long outlived its usefulness. I can assure you, Raven has done far worse than sharing a man."

"Not with me."

Magneto halted the platform and advanced on Scott, nearly edging him off the side as they came nose to nose. "_Summers_—I allow you to lie to me as much as you lie to yourself. No more. You can _lie _all you want that you're not doing this for Ms. Grey, but I know what's truly in your heart, _boy. _Your world wouldn't burn for Raven or for Wanda, but it would for _her, _so I've named my price. The girl will make it to the Promised Land, but she will not be yours. She will never be yours. I give you my only daughter. I give you my most trusted lieutenant. If they are not enough to buy you, than you're far worse than loyal to Xavier. You're loyal to _nothing. _And I should kill you now."

Scott eyed him right back. "I'll be Wanda's husband. In every capacity."

Magneto did not answer until the platform started moving again. "Son."


	8. Logan's Terrible Day Part II

Thank mutant God, his apartment in the city still had some liquor left from the last time he'd had to crash there. Logan sat in his easy chair—the one chair in the spider-hole—and drank from the bottle. Kid's body wasn't used to it. Nearly coughed it up. Logan forced more down.

Wasn't like he could rightly get up to anything in some punk kid's body; best if he just enjoyed his newfound ability to get drunk without a fucking healing factor harshing his buzz. Chuck would get him back into his own body some time, hopefully before he had to deal with the hangover. After the kid had gotten some from Red in _his _body, least he could do was deal with some pink elephants.

Then his phone rang. Not _his _phone—the one in the backpack he'd been lugging around for the kid, with the Star Wars ringtone. Groaning, he dug around in it, finally upending the bag and picking up the phone from the detritus. Mary Jane Watson. The redhead from detention. Well, far be it for Logan to spoil the kid's chances with a red slice.

"Whaddya want?"

"Peter, turn on the news!"

Logan paused to take a drink. "Why?" he asked after he finished.

"There's a hostage situation! Some crazy Kraven the Hunter groupies have taken people hostage!"

"Sucks to be them, I guess."

Her voice went shrill with disbelief. "_That's _your reaction to people being taken hostage?"

"No, that's my reaction to Kraven the Hunter having groupies."

Sensing he'd be in for some whining if he didn't, Logan fetched his remote and turned the TV on. The Playboy Channel came on full blast, stereo surround sound, before Logan got the local news on. _Sorry, kid. Gotta leave you hanging the bag on that one._

Yeah, he saw it. Two women calling themselves the Kravinoffs had taken a fucking zoo hostage and were demanding their boy toy be released to them. Cops were being useless. Ultimates were out of town. Looked like a job for Superman or some shit.

"Eh, SWAT can handle it. What d'ya think they get paid for?"

"Peter, now is not the time for your Spider-Man No More BS! Liz is in there!"

"Who?"

"Liz Allan! Our friend! _Are you drunk?_"

"You're only drunk if you can't handle your liquor."

"_God, _Peter, I cannot deal with this right now! I spent half the day in detention, I might not even be straight, and now my best friend is being held hostage. Put on your costume and _do something!_"

"Wait, what wuz that about you being a lesbian?"

She hung up on him. Logan looked down at the pile of Parker's shit on the floor. Yup, there was a costume.

No fucking way he was wearing that.

* * *

Unfortunately, Jean's powers were too limited to pull the schematics to the device from someone in the know, but she could project her consciousness into the collars themselves and translate their inner workings into the projection of Peter's room. A reproduction of the inhibitor collar, ten times life-size, appeared in the air above Peter's bed.

"Cool. Can we, uh?" He gestured at it.

"What?" Jean asked.

"You know, like in Minority Report? Open it up and see the little holographic bits."

"Not a computer, Pete. You want me to do something, you're going to have to tell me what it is. And say please."

"Alright. Give me a cross-section. Please."

The collar dutifully split in two.

"And… spin it a little?"

It started spinning.

"Beautiful. Looks like—I'm not saying it is—it looks like the tech Reed Richards uses to control rowdy nonterrestrials."

"Wow! Gee-whiz! You're so smart!" Alison cheered mockingly. "How do we switch it off, brainiac?"

Peter propped himself up on one elbow. "It's designed _not to be _turned off, unless you're damn sure the Person of Mass Destruction you've slapped it on is done being a jerk. But Reed's is designed with a crybaby circuit. It gets damaged or impaired in any way, it sends out a distress signal so even if the deactivation is authorized, SHIELD or whoever is in the loop. This doesn't have that. It has—"

"An explosive," Kitty finished. She sat down on the bed next to him. "I think you're smart," she whispered, most sincere.

He smiled at her. "So we don't disable the collar. We disable the explosive. Then we just cut it off."

"With what?" Piotr asked plaintively, then saw Peter holding up his hands. "Oh. Da. Your borrowed body's adamantium claws. Yes. Forget I said anything."

"Jean, think you have enough mojo to move this bit—" Peter pointed into the halved collar. "Out of alignment?"

"It'll look bad if I don't try," she shot back.

"Good. We do everyone's before we start taking them off. I'll go last." He grinned a little fatalistically. "Not my body, after all."

Kitty swooned a little.

* * *

The old man watched the recorded footage and wondered how anyone could see these mistakes as human. As the telepath and the beast rutted—lovemaking was a human term—he saw all the ways their superhumanity had made them less than human. They moved too fast and too smoothly. Microexpressions colored their features, but in reaction to shared thoughts, not words or gestures. And their physicality; stamina, strength, enthusiasm, it was as far removed from human sexuality as pornography was from love.

It did strike him as tasteless, if not inhumane. Much like lingering on two dogs coupling, it simply denoted a lack of class.

Still, for bait to work, it must first be noticed.

He looked around the Krakoa complex's control room. So much of it was like a TV studio, dedicated to the editing and broadcast of the livestream that paid for all this. Little pits were given over to the complex's defenses and hunt teams. You had to crawl down into them on ladders. And most were watching the replay of the sex, edited on the fly to make it appear more bestial. If they weren't, they were gossiping about what other X-Men might be persuaded to make a sex tape.

The old man ignored them. He was paying attention to the defense pit. The men there were formerly of Weapon X. They knew their jobs. When one stood, even the Genoshans listened. "I'm getting an unidentified on vector seven, matches no known flight profile."

"X-Wing?" the old man asked, as the fat form of Mojo Adams, their host, _the _host, rambled toward them.

"No, but not far off."

The old man stroked his patchy beard. "The Blackbird, built by Jonathan Silvercloud. His mutant power is extreme mechanical intuition. If he were born in the 17th century, he could invent a stealth bomber."

Mojo finally arrived, out of breath. "So why… are we… seeing it?"

The old man regarded him. "Because, as brilliant as this one man is, he is pitting his intellect against the millions of aerospace engineers around the world who have worked on radar technology, of which we have the very latest. Your very own show says it, Mr. Adams. A single mutant may be incredibly powerful, but pitted against ten _normal_ men? A hundred? A thousand? A _million_? Numbers always win. And this is a numbers game. Give the order."

The fat albino reared up in surprise. "You're waiting for my—"

"This is your facility."

"_Fire, you idiots! Blow them out of the sky!"_

* * *

Piloting the Blackbird cleared Scott's head. The controls were much as the X-Wing's had once been, as were the specs, though they'd diverged once Beast had taken over the X-Wing's development and Forge had continued his innovations with the Blackbird.

Best of all, unlike on the X-Wing, the Blackbird's cockpit was sealed. His team rode in the back. That was that.

He believed in mutant equality. He was willing to die for it. But he had to admit, if he were to judge mutantkind solely on the Brotherhood, that Sentinel switch would look awfully nice…

The door to the cabin jimmied open, letting in the sound of a raucous argument Pietro was having over someone _looking _at his sister. Rogue came through the open door, shut it behind her, and took the navigator's seat, strapping herself in as soon as she was situated. Scott smiled at her. Raven would've deliberately left herself unrestrained, just to bug him.

"Mystique sent me," she said, respectfully using her adopted mother's mutant name. "Said you'd want someone to talk to."

"Yeah." Scott gave the read-outs one last check before turning to her. "What's the round-up?"

Rogue worked at remembering the technical term before getting it. "You know me and Toad are with you. Juggernaut, Blob, Quicksilver—they just want to kill humans."

"Will they take prisoners? I want hostages, not blood."

"They're none too worked up about the poor innocent mutants of Genosha. Except for Wanda. She's got a lotta room for sand in her vagina."

Scott half-smiled. "Interesting way to put it, but sure. The twins—?"

"Who knows? They never line up for the Christmas photos, you know?"

"And Mystique?"

"Well… you know how complicated that is." Rogue started looking around. "You got anything to eat in here?"

"Like some corn nuts?"

"Yeah."

"In the experimental piece of mutant technology?"

'Yeah."

"Check under your seat."

Rogue reached down, feeling around for a bag. "Don't think it's some big deal. Yeah, I had the hots for you. I can't touch anyone and half the people in my peer group are monsters. You have a six-pack; I wanna see your dick. Don't take it too personal."

Scott gripped the steering column tighter. "Look, Marian, Raven and I—"

"You're fucking. It's fine. She told me herself. _Not a big deal,_" she repeated. "Mystique may have raised me, but she ain't my mother. Sometimes we're more like best friends than that. Sometimes I'm a whiny little brat and she kicks my ass for it. It's all fluid. It's mutation. Ain't like I was ever gonna grow up with white picket fences and a mommy and a daddy."

Rogue came up for air, bearing a bag of corn nuts. Scott raised an eyebrow. He'd thought Forge was kidding.

"Just so you know," Rogue finished, ripping the bag open. "I ain't never gonna call you daddy."

"Good: Raven calls me that already, so it'd be confusing."

Rogue shivered. "I haven't been this nauseated since I touched Blob with my bare hand."

A light started flashing, corresponding with a shrill whine.

"What's that?" Rogue asked, mouth full.

"Missile lock," Scott said. "They're shooting at us."

* * *

"Target hit," the fire control officer reported, not looking up from his console. "Tracking—confirm splashdown."

"Sweep for survivors!" Mojo ordered, getting into the groove of commanding a junta. He beamed at the old man. "More contestants for the games."

"Not too many, I should hope." The old man coughed. "We only have so many inhibitors to go around."

Mojo wedged his fat fingers together. "We'll have to stop broadcasting live soon, record some stuff for later. Always leave the audience wanting more. This month, the death of the X-Men! Next month, the death of the Brotherhood! I could get a Nobel Prize! An Emmy, even!"

* * *

In the holding cell, there was absolute quiet. The X-men did not even think loudly out of fear Jean would be distracted and set off a collar's explosive charge. Fortunately, the X-Men had been drilled on going thoughtless. Unfortunately, Spider-Man had not.

"The theme to Tiny Toons?" Jean cried. "Really?"

"Sorry, I can't stop _thinking. _I go to public school, it would make things a lot easier, but I just can't!"

Allison pulled up her shirt. She was not wearing a bra.

Peter did not look away.

"Thank you," Jean said, relieved.

The newfound silence was quickly shattered. From outside came a sound of hissing, fizzling, gnashing. Everyone's ears pricked up, but only Peter spoke.

"What's that?"

"SAM sites," Piotr answered. "I smuggled them during my time with the Russian Mafia."

Jean stood, giving her stiff neck a crack. She'd deactivated everyone's collar but Peter's, but this made her think they didn't have much time. And if it went off, he did have a healing factor, after all… "Someone's taking the fight to Genosha, which gives us our shot. Peter, cut us loose, fast."

* * *

"Sir, search teams are not reporting in. Perimeter defense in proximity to the crash site has also gone dark."

Mojo's chins rolled with the concealment of his anger. "We've got over six hundred cameras on this island! Show me Humanity Beach!"

The many screens devoted to culling interview footage became views of the northern shoreline. The blue tide was cancerous with red, mangled Reaver bodies washing ashore or being dragged onto the pristine sand by the Brotherhood. They were bloodied but unbowed, emerging from the surf like statues being washed clean.

"Men!" Mojo shouted, jowls wagging. "Send more men! Shoot them! Knife them! Bite them!"

The old man was untouched by the room's sudden frenzy. "Am I the only one who finds this… convenient?"

"I am putting on a show! I find it incredibly inconvenient!"

Ignoring Mojo's curses, the old man opened his laptop. "Let's check in on our guests… oh. Look. An escape attempt."

Mojo grabbed the laptop from the old man to see Wolverine slipping one claw under Marvel Girl's collar, then sliding the blade through it. "Open a feed to them, now!"

* * *

Like giving myself a haircut, Peter thought as he tried to get a claw into his tight-fitting inhibitor without snikting himself. It was a lot harder trying to do it to himself. When the wall turned into an unappetizing close-up of Mojo's face, he gave himself a shaving nick.

"You think you're smart, don't you?" Mojo roared.

Peter frantically tried to wiggle a claw under his collar again. "Well, none of us list Jabba the Hutt as our thinspiration." Jean gave him a quick psychic tweet: _Stay in character. _"…bub."

"I see you still haven't removed yours. Idiot! The others' collars were just to keep them in line. If worst came to worst, I was only ever going to activate yours!"

"That's stupid," Allison observed. "He's Wolverine. He can heal from anything. See?"

Using the amplified sound of Mojo's breathing on the audio pick-up, she blew off Peter's earlobe.

It grew back.

"I can still feel pain! Bub!"

"Idiots!" Mojo said again. "His collar doesn't kill him! It doses him with an excess of dopamine. Oh yes, Logan, I'm well-aware of your berserker rages—the anger that comes with a lifetime of pain and regret! It's already injected you! And with our custom serum flowing through your veins, you'll kill everyone around you, friend or foe. We've already evacuated your sector and locked it down, so there's no one else to face the beast except your _team. _Not that you'll remember any of this in an hour's time, but make sure to pre-order the Blu-Ray on our website in case you want to know which of your friends you cannibalized."

Storm blasted the screen with a quick bolt of lightning. The cameras on the same circuit exploded in firecracker-pops.

Then Peter noticed everyone was looking at him.

"Look, guys, I really don't have a berserker rage, so I don't think this is going to do anything too extreme to me. Maybe I'll just get real mad about the Phantom Menace again. Or maybe—"

Piotr pointed down.

Peter looked. His erection was pushing out the crotch of his pants so hard, he might as well have shoved a can of Pringles down there.

* * *

Conversation over, Mojo flew away from the camera to see that now the old man was looking at the main screen. Was there no pleasing him?

Then he saw the Brotherhood was moving inland. "Reaver Units 4 and 5 have gone dark," a technician reported.

"I can see that!" Mojo watched a blue-skinned woman gun one of his cybernetic augments down. "Send more _men! _They could handle the X-Men, they can handle these—these!"

"The X-Men are children," the old man said. "And we were still going to hunt the upperclassmen one at a time. We're not equipped to deal with all of them _and _the Brotherhood!"

Mojo slapped at a nearby bulkhead. "So what do you suggest?"

"Retreat. We can still use Plan B."

"No! No, no, no! I am not losing this studio! We're getting better ratings than Keeping Up With The Kardashians and _I haven't even brought in the celebrity judges yet!"_

Another anonymous technician raised his head. "Sir, I'm getting a communique on the secure channel. I think you'll want to hear this."

Mojo barreled his way over to the technician's workstation, gesturing for him to pipe it through. Even as he reached his destination, a strong, clear voice was coming over the speakers.

"Krakoa Island, this is Captain America of the Ultimates. We are aware of your situation and stand ready to offer aid."

* * *

Colossus charged the cell door once more, bending the Carbonadium bars a little more. It was slow-going; the stuff was nearly as strong as Adamantium. Jean ignored the clang of Piotr's organic steel body against their captivity. Reestablishing a psychic link-up with the X-Men was just as important.

She opened her eyes. "Alright, the other X-Men are okay. The Reavers have been called off them to deal with some kind of incursion. I'm getting a lot of secondary thoughts about the Brotherhood—"

Allison snorted. "Good to know your boyfriend finally showed."

"He's not my—" "Not her boyfriend," Jean and Storm said, almost at once.

"Whatever."

"Nightcrawler's on his way here now," Jean continued. "Once he's in, he can teleport us right outside. But first, I want to find the Professor. They've got him stashed somewhere in this building, so as soon as Colossus has the door down, we're going to spread out and find him—"

A hinge came off the door, flying through the air to smack the ceiling. Jean took an involuntary step back and found herself pressed against Peter.

The last time she'd noticed him, he'd tucked himself into a corner with his hands over his crotch, apologizing even as Kitty tried to assure him it was okay. But obviously he'd taken a few steps away from the wall, because Jean could feel his cock right on her ass. God, it was so hard…

He wrapped his arms around her midsection, his stubble burning between her shoulder blades as he rubbed his face there. She could feel him right through her costume. The imitation material of the replica was far too cheap and far too thin.

"Peter…" she said gently, hoping the others hadn't noticed.

"You're so damn sexy," he muttered, his voice seeming to vibrate into her where his chest pressed into her back.

His hand dipped down into her pants, fingers touching her revealing to them both how wet she was. She could feel his thought burning into her: _knew you didn't get enough._

Jean felt his other hand pulling down the seat of her pants. She could feel that thought too. It was on fire. He was going to fuck her from behind, like a dog. Like she was a bitch in heat.

"So… you guys need a minute?" Storm asked.

It was hard to tell who pulled away from who fastest. Peter backed in the corner again, covering his groin with his hands like he'd taken a punch there, while Jean practically hopped getting her pants back up around her waist.

"Sorry, sorry—" Peter was saying.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Alison said.

"Animal-beast-thing," Jean likewise explained.

"_I'm so sure._"

Peter took a deep breath, for the first time noticing that Colossus had gotten the door open. "Listen, you guys go on, defend a world that hates and fears you without me. I'd just… distract you. I think I'll stay here and think about baseball."

"You could always… _drochit_," Piotr said considerately.

"Uh, no offense, but on the long list of things I'd like to touch, Wolverine's wang is way below 'a dolphin'."

"We can't just leave him here," Storm argued. "What if someone stumbles across him in this state and gets hurt? The boy has no experience controlling Logan's urges."

"Well, teenage boy, high school relationship—I've got _some _practice controlling urges."

"I will stay," Piotr said. "He cannot harm me."

"Piotr, you're our heavy hitter," Jean said. "We're going to need you on deck for this one."

"I'll stay," Alison volunteered. "Everyone else has phenomenal fucking cosmic power, or is completely useless like Kitty."

"Hey!"

"I can zap 'im in the nads if he gets out of line."

Peter made a face, but said nothing, agreeing with the necessity of it. Jean looked over her team, turning the idea over in her head. For once, Alison had a point, and no one else was volunteering. She signaled the other X-men to file out. "Just watch him. Try to talk him down. Keep his mind occupied. And keep your distance."

"Not the first time I've needed to deal with a horny Canadian with the mind of a teenage boy," Alison said. "Go. Do your lame Superfriends thing."

Jean left hurriedly with the others. She didn't want to linger on this. She'd gotten Peter into this situation, and if he came out of this having traumatized himself or anyone else, she'd never forgive herself.

As soon as they were gone, Alison walked across the cell to where Peter was crouched. She sat down on her haunches and looked him in the eye.

"Thank you for doing this, Alison," he said distantly.

She smiled at him, running her hands through her spiked hair. "Call me Ali."

* * *

"It's a trap," the old man said suddenly.

Mojo could've pulled his hair out. After some terse negotiation, he'd managed to get the rights to film and distribute the Ultimates fighting the Brotherhood, in perpetuity, as well as the rights to put any surviving mutants in the game. He was going to be a rich man, and he was already a rich man. He was going to be a rich man's rich man. And his guest still couldn't help but piss on his parade.

"We've got twenty million dollars of radar technology, all telling us that it is an official SHIELD Quinjet coming in for a landing. What more do you want?"

"Too convenient," the old man insisted. "And the Brotherhood has illusionists."

"_One _illusionist," Mojo corrected. "Mastermind. And he's with the Brotherhood, _killing us._"

The old man shook his head resolutely. "Too damn convenient."

The main screen switched to a view of the Quinjet strafing the Brotherhood incursion, dropping the Ultimates as it went. Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, and more hit the Brotherhood like two thousand-strong armies compressed into two dozen combatants. Mojo watched as Thor's axe took that blue bitch's head off. Then he clapped.


	9. Logan's Terrible Day Part III

Silver Sable caught sight of the Spider-Man on camera 5. As she'd suspected, he was headed to the zoo to deal with the Huntresses. That is, if it was him. He didn't seem to be wearing the same costume.

* * *

Elektra watched Spider-Man enter the zoo. She was not a cold woman. She would let him save his precious hostages before she killed him.

What the fuck was he wearing, though?

* * *

Sasha Kravinoff watched the dark shape approaching fast through the glass that secured her fortress. The Spider. Some things were a constant no matter the universe.

"Ana!" she called to her daughter, her voice thick with her Slavic roots. "Get up here! I need you!"

The sixteen-year-old was dressed much like herself, though while Sasha left herself bare besides her bodysuit, Ana wore a safari jacket over hers. Besides that, they were next to identical, distinguished primarily by Sasha's cruel expression and short-shorn black hair, while Ana's face was more blankly engaged, her hair a long ponytail of gold. And she showed every sign of developing as voluptuously as her mother.

Hearing her mother's call, Ana stopped toying with the hostages and ran up to join Sasha in the topmost portion of the enclosed commissary that sheltered them from the police. Both were armed heavily, favoring stolen Starktech weapons in favor of their more traditional arsenal. They were taking no chances in this strange place.

They watched the Spider approach, then crash through a high eyebrow window that no one else could've managed. He came down in a hail of broken glass and they were finally able to get a good look at him. Black boots. Leather pants. A wifebeater under a leather jacket, with only the gloves and mask showing red and blue.

"Is he gay in this universe?" Ana asked her mother.

"Fuck you, lady," Spider-Man spat. "I realized halfway here that I didn't put my beer in the fridge, so fuck if it ain't getting cold. So can you psycho bitches just throw down the guns or do I have to listen to your whole spiel?"

Sasha was silent for a long moment. Then: "Spider-Man! It is only natural ve'd meet. Surely you vonder why someone would vant to secure the release of so odious a man as this dimension's reality TV host…"

"No. I don't care. Quit yakking and shoot at me so I can jump around and whatever the fuck."

Ana gave Sasha a look. Then she unloaded at Spider-Man.

* * *

"You might not want to get so close," Peter said, trying to cross his legs to better hide his erection. It was hard, sitting on his ass. His penis kept popping up from his cross-legged stance. "I can kinda… smell you… and stuff."

"S'cool," Ali said. "Just wondering, why Jean?"

Peter ground the heel of his hand into his eye. God, he could _really _smell her… "Why Jean what?"

"Well, we all know what you and her _did._" Ali smiled off-kilter. "Could hear it from here. But was she _really _so good you wanted seconds or do you just not have anything to compare it to?"

As bad as Peter's day had been, he was still something of a guy and he did not like Ali's insinuation. "Hey! I've got _plenty _to compare it to, lady!"

"Oh yeah?"

Peter leaned forward. "Sue frickin' Storm, for one! And… okay, that's all, but still! She's a celebrity, she should count as two or even three other women."

"Easy, nerd, didn't mean anything by it." Peter's shift had caused another slippage, allowing Ali to trace the outline of his cock with her eyes. "I'm just sayin', you're here in a room with three hot bitches and Kitty Pryde, and you go for the flavor you've already tried? Did you like it that much or did you just think she wouldn't stop you?"

"I, uh, I mean, well…" Peter scratched his head, and Ali could swear, thinking about it was making his bulge twitch.

"Shit, it's hot in here." Ali peeled off her crop top, leaving her in a bra studded with metal and capri pants, and a lot of tattoos. "You wanna take something off too? Nothing I'm not gonna see anyway once I torrent you and the redhead getting it on."

"Uhhhhh…"

"Is that it? Got a thing for redheads? I know the stripe in my hair is blue, but," she grinned fiercely, "you never know what else might be dyed."

* * *

"This is Captain America. All Brotherhood members neutralized and accounted for."

No cheer went up in the control room. They'd already seen the fight and the Ultimates' success was evident. Only a few were left alive, including Cyclops. Mojo was pleased. He knew his viewers would love to see that man being hunted.

"Bring them here for processing," Mojo ordered, forgetting himself and his recent queasiness now that the situation is in hand. "I'll… see what I can do about getting free DVD box-sets of the show for you and your men."

"Copy." There was a pause. Mojo could see the Captain America on their surveillance footage looking almost… ill at ease. "I've been instructed to ask that you release the X-Men into our custody, in exchange for the Brotherhood."

"The X-Men are Genoshan criminals!"

"That's true. But my government would be much more comfortable with you hunting down a bunch of terrorists than our citizens. Rest assured, if you give them to us, they'll be duly punished."

Mojo pressed his lips together as thinly as they could go. "I'll consider it. Bring the Brotherhood here. You did promise, remember?"

"Yes, Mr. Adams. We're on our way." And Mojo watched as the Captain on the screen gave a hand gesture and his troops frog-marched the Brotherhood survivors off-camera.

Mojo shut off the feed. "He is _not _getting the X-Men. Call our diplomat, tell him to get in touch with Washington. If Captain America leaves here with a single mutie in his possession, I want the _President_ up his ass!"

* * *

It was amazing, Peter thought, how unselfconscious Ali was about undressing in front of a total stranger. He almost would've applauded it—seemed very empowering—but he was seeing the downside of having Logan's healing factor. Before, what he'd done with Jean would've emptied out his reserves for a good 48 hours. Now, maybe fifteen minutes later, his balls felt like they would explode. If he'd just swapped minds, he would've believed this body hadn't gotten off in six months.

"I mean," Ali continued, doffing her bra to reveal a pierced nipple and a tattoo of a heart in her cleavage. "You do wanna fuck me, right?" Standing, she wiggled out of her capri pants. How did he know she wasn't wearing panties? "And I know I wanna fuck you…"

The hulking musculature of Wolverine's swapped body was shaking like a leaf, so hard that the beads of sweat on his brow were regularly being tossed into the air.

"Could at least buy me dinner first," he gasped hoarsely.

Ali patted one huge bicep lovingly. "Easy there, tex. See, I always heard you were a bit of a stick in the mud. I just want to know what it'll take to get the stick out. So don't worry; we're definitely going to fuck."

At the profanity, Peter gulped hard. "That's… a little reassuring."

"But first, _bitch, _we're gonna see what it takes to make you lose control." She began hauling Peter's legs out from the hunched-up position he had them in.

Peter fought his own body, but in the end, he was splayed-legged and his cock was making a basket out of the crotch of his jeans. "That's really crazy, Ali."

"No, that's _metal as hell._" And Ali put a small hand with quite a few rings on his thigh, squeezing lightly, pleased with the solid muscle underneath the blue denim. And with the bulge between his legs.

She ran her hand up his inseam. Peter gritted his teeth together and laughed nervously through them.

"Uh, Ali—you sure this is metal? Not punk rock? Outlaw country?"

"Shhhhh," she urged him. "Don't touch me, Peter. I touch you. I touch you until I say otherwise. I don't want you to fuck me just yet, motherfucker. I just want to see what your cock looks like."

Eyeing him, she let her fingernails click over his fly until she'd found the zipper, then slowly pulled it down, never looking away from his eyes. He had to admit, it was a pretty good move. Then she reached eagerly into his pants, over the kinky hair of his groin and onto the thick shaft of his manhood. That ruined it a bit. Where Peter was long and slender, Logan had the purple-knobbed slab of a male porn star, and it made Peter feel a little bit like he was wearing a strap-on.

"Damn, bitch, that's what I call a cock!" She grabbed him by the base and fished him out of his pants, giving it a little impressed grunt when he sprang free and continued to grow, then running her hand up and down the thickening shaft.

Peter croaked a bit. He grabbed for her, his callused fingers sinking into the meat of her shoulders, but just barely managed to pry his hands back off her. "Listen, Ali, you seem nice and all, but I'm kinda really worried what Wolverine's getting up to in my body, so I'm not really in the best place to be a sensitive, giving lover—"

"Eh, he's probably just getting drunk now that he doesn't have a healing factor to turn every beer into a wine cooler."

"But I'm not twenty-one! I can't buy beer!"

"Oh. Well then. God only knows." Smiling crookedly, Ali used her other hand to push up the hem of Peter's shirt until he took the hint and pulled it the rest of the way off. Then she was scraping her unoccupied fingers through the coils of hair on his chest and belly. A soft white hand still pumping his cock like a watergun, she leaned down to lick up his sweaty chest, inhaling his musky scent right through her mouth. "Jesus. S'like getting laid at Burning Man. With a gay dude. No offense."

Peter was gaping in pleasure and control, his hands weaving drunkenly in mid-air, fisted into tight little cords. One dropped lower and lower, like his arm was getting tired. The fist unclenched. He ran his fingers through Ali's hair—even that seemed rough-hewn—and onto her face, where her piercings burned cold against his fingertip. She took exaggeratedly to his prompting, swaying with his hand to move downward, kiss his navel, then lap at the mane of dark pubic hair that surrounded his bulging root. He felt her blow hot air right onto his scrotum; his other hand opened and pinched the barbell piercing in her ear.

Now he guided her directly to his cock, and she sluiced her tongue over the wrinkly skin of his sack, up the root of his vein-etched cock, and finally to the mushroom-shaped head, where she lapped up a pearl of precum that oozed from his tip. Then she pulled back. His hands were frozen on her head, but she exerted more and more of an effort until he gave in and let her loose, his hands banging hard on the floor as he regained control.

"Fuck! Fucking shit!"

"Whew, the F-bomb," Ali purred. "Thought you only cursed in Yiddish. Hey, are you a Jew? I only ask because I gotta know if it's weird, having an uncircumcised wang. Is it? Trying sea cucumber?"

"I'm not Jewish!" Peter panted. "I'm just a really big nerd!"

"Oh, okay. Well, this concludes the oral portion of the exam." Ali stood, buck-naked and self-conscious as a stripper. "I gotta get a condom before we go any further. Imagine Wolverine having kids! Probably be _born_ with enough daddy issues to be a hooker…"

Ali walked back to her clothes to fish for a condom in the tattered garments she called a uniform. Or she would've, if she hadn't slipped on her own sock and landed facedown, banging her knee on the floor and splaying her legs. Exposing the swollen lips of her cunt, her shimmering wet entryway. How ready she was.

"Motherfucker!" Ali cried, holding her knee. "Who the fuck builds floors that can't make one that isn't the slipperiest fucking shit in the universe? Fuckin' Slip-N-Slides aren't this slippery! Jesus! I should fucking sue—"

The rest was lost to the ages. Peter literally pounced, mounting her from behind and stuffing her full of himself in one instinctive thrust.

* * *

_This might actually work, _Mojo thought. As the Ultimates brought the Brotherhood survivors in, he realized that he could always get them to recapture the X-Men running loose in his facility. He just had to throw them a bone.

After all, it wasn't like Cap would be throwing a shield around when he was forty. He'd need to get into another line of work, and what better than TV personality? Mojo could swing that. Start him off slow with a commentary gig on Genosha National News, a few rounds on the interview circuit, then his own talk show. To say nothing of the chicks! Mojo could get them a music video played twenty-four/seven. And every woman wanted to star in a music video. Mojo knew the ladies.

He watched with an almost masturbatory glee as the Brotherhood members were sorted, each on a different screen, each shouldered along by an Ultimate. Captain America himself was bringing Cyclops up to the control room. Mojo cued up the footage of Marvel Girl and Wolverine's little love nest. He was in a generous mood. He'd stream it again for everyone who missed it with a special insert of Cyclops' face.

The heavy door to the bunker opened and Captain America shoved Cyclops through, the leader of the Brotherhood looking around through his creepy red visor. Mojo marched right up to him, hemming and hawing. "Captain America! Captain, Captain, Captain! Genosha owes you a debt of gratitude."

"Where are the X-Men?" Captain America demanded. "I had assurances—"

"Don't be so hasty!" Mojo said cajolingly. "Let's talk it over first, haggle a little. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Donut hole?" He gave Cyclops a look. "Nice shades. Don't think you'll be too popular with the audience. Lack of eye contact. Hurts your ratings."

"The X-Men!" Captain America insisted. "Where are they?"

"Well…" Mojo wheedled his fingers together. "They're somewhere in B-wing, we are having a bit of a locationary issue—it's our leniency, really, we practically give them free run of the place, they go and cause trouble, we'll sort it out eventually, maybe you could help? First things first—how would you like an hour every day to talk about family values to an international audience? _In primetime?_"

Captain America scowled. "So you don't have them?" he asked.

"You seem awfully fixated on that," the old man said, speaking for the first time from his recessed position—almost a hiding place. "Mr. Adams, are you sure it's wise to allow a man that shoots optic blasts from his eyes into your control room?"

The Captain laughed out loud. "Cyclops? Please. He's harmless. His hands are bound, and he needs them free to work the dial on his visor." Captain America pointed to it—a small, svelte control on the side of Cyclops' eye-wear. "See? Like this."

And he turned the dial all the way.

Cyclops juked and pivoted, moving the uncontrollable stream of destruction with smooth precision. He'd already planned out the path it would take—wrapping around the room to destroy or disable anything that was a threat, as well as compromising the facility's functions. In ten seconds, it was over, a swath of destruction having literally almost halved the room.

Now mostly herself aside from the white and red stripes on her belly, Mystique turned the dial down on his visor before moving to undo his handcuffs. What few monitors hadn't turned to broken glass or static now showed the Brotherhood on a rampage; the Ultimates who'd been escorting them fading away like desert mirages. And the Quinjet on their runway had faded from its noble silvery silhouette into the cruel, dark angles of the Blackbird.

Cyclops didn't pay attention to any of it. He went to the green screen from which Mojo filmed his host segments, cued up the stream with a few strokes of the keyboard, then looked at the camera and its blinking red light. He said nothing. Just let his red-sighted visage stream over wi-fi and broadband to anyone who might be watching.

Then he blasted the camera apart.

"That's a wrap."

Mystique rolled her eyes as she bound Mojo's hands. "Are we doing quips? We're doing quips now?"

Mojo just had two questions. "How? _How?_"

"Simple," Cyclops said, never one to pass up a lecture. "You never shot us down. Just an illusion. The same as your men being taken out during our 'attack'. We simply jammed your communications while showing you the illusion of the Reavers dying en masse."

"Mutants are smart like that," Mystique grinned.

"Then, when you were desperate, Mystique here made a phone call as Captain America and you gave us permission to land, right inside your facility. The rest is, well—academic." That was all the time Cyclops had for Mojo Adams. Now he focused on the old man who was of such obvious importance, not to mention enough intelligence to hide before the room was barraged. "And who might you be?"

It was Mystique that spoke, her eyes clouding over in sudden realization. "Dr. Cornelius."

He almost clapped, his look of admiration was so strong. "But how did you cast your illusions both on your aircraft and on Krakoa?"

"Illusionists." Cyclops allowed himself a rare smile. "I have two."

* * *

"I loved your big battle scene with the Reavers, Mastermind. I could barely even tell that Wanda got killed three times."

"And good work on the Quinjet, Lady Mastermind. It almost looked like it wasn't a really big toy."

"You know what? That tears it. Get your own mutant name, sis, I'm tired of sharing one with you!"

"Who's sharing? I'm Lady Mastermind because, much like Lady Judi Dench, I am classy, elegant, and feminine, while you're Mastermind because that was father's mutant name and you're uncreative."

"First off, it's Dame Judi Dench, second, you realize he didn't call himself 'Mr. Mastermind' or 'Mastermind Man' so it's entirely sexist for _you _to need a gender pronoun added on. Not that I'd expect you to care for your fellow women."

"Like you care that I had to let Pietro _carry me _into Krakoa so I could cast the illusions that got your fat ass inside?"

"_You're _one to talk about fat asses, considering you show yours off to anyone with an X-gene!"

"At least they've found a genome for people who like my ass. I think the only guys that could like you would be, like, the Kree!"

"We're identical twins, idiot!"

"Only because you keep using your power to make yourself look like me. I.e., _hot._"

"_You're _the one who uses her power to look like _me!"_

"God, you're such a little bitch. You know what you need? You need to cast yourself an illusion of a guy with a big dick and. Get. _Laid!"_

* * *

"HOLY SHIT!" Ali cried out, sorting pain from pleasure for long seconds as Peter settled into her. She was more than wet enough, and her tonguing earlier had lubricated his cock, but _Christ, _did he have a hammer on him! "PEAS AND FUCKING RICE!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Peter even breathed apologetically, backing what felt like a yard of cock out of Ali's shaking body, exposing the gorge he'd temporarily reamed into Ali's small snatch.

"Put it back!" Ali ordered shrilly. Her lips lifted up in search of him, already feeling empty, unsatisfied, _hungry. _"Get back in me, you fucking homo, you owe my ass at least as good a fuck as you gave the redhead! Shit, man, if you're gonna take it, take all of it!"

"Sorry," Peter apologized again, somewhat sarcastically, as he grabbed her by the hips and guided himself back inside. He had to admit, it flattered him a bit to hear Ali beg, even if it was in her own demented fashion. Probably just Logan's hormones. It wasn't like he was the kind of guy who got off on that sort of thing. He was pretty much on drugs at the moment, and it wasn't even his choice. More like a contact high. So as long as he was tripping, might as well enjoy it.

Might as well _Ali _enjoyed it.

"God, you're big—fucking huge!"

"It's a proportional thing," he gritted out, eyes closed in the relief of feeling her cunt closed around him. "My other body's longer."

"You sound like a bumper sticker," Ali breathed wearily.

Her body had spun through all the possible reactions it could have to being so deeply penetrated, and now she actually felt _drowsy _with pleasure because Peter wasn't screwing her. Not yet. He was just resting on his knees and hands over her while her shock wore off and her cunt expanded to accommodate his cock. She moved her hips experimentally and felt him so far inside her, it was a wonder she wasn't choking on him.

"Why do we call you Wolverine? You should be named Horse. Donkey."

"Barnacle."

"Huh?"

"They have the largest penis size relative to their body mass…"

"Oh, shut the fuck _up_!" The blur of tattoos and wings that made up Ali's hands flew to his hairy back, pulling at him to sink his cock into her just a little more. Peter gave in, letting her tug him into position so she had it all, every inch he could give her, even his heavy balls pressed up tight against her. "That's right, motherfucker," she sighed. "Fill me fucking _full_…"

Peter's eyes were closed, but the feel of her tight cunt enfolding him no longer brought satisfaction. He didn't want to fuck her. He, his body, wanted to dominate her, own her. And he couldn't resist anymore, not when she was asking for it.

Ali had no time to think; his cock was sucked out of her and then plunged back in, mixing pain and pleasure once more in her sex.

"Yes! Ohhh… _yes!_" she cried, the savage punching of his cock finally seeming to break through. She felt an explosive release inside her, going off with such force it knocked the wind out of her, left her gasping for air and consciousness. "Just like that, bitchfucker! _Hit me! Rip me up!"_

She reached out, hands stretching to her discarded clothes, finding her top and bringing the fabric to her to bite down on. Normally, she'd scream just as loud as she wanted, but not when the X-geeks might come running and, God forbid, make them _stop…_

_Damn, you really do want it, _Peter though. He was flabbergasted by the punishment she was both taking and asking for—Mary Jane, Black Cat, Sue, none of them had been like this. Only Jean had even hinted at it, and he'd convinced himself it was a put-on, a show for the online audience. But now, with Ali, he could only see her pleasure as a challenge. She wanted more, he'd give it to her.

"You want it hard?" he groaned, pulling her legs even further apart and gripping each of her thighs in a meaty hand. "Then take it _fucking hard!" _He drove into her with all his mutant strength, a look of almost rage passing over his face. "Take it all, you bitch! _Take my cock right up to your throat!"_

Another orgasm, like a kick in the ribs, flattened Ali. She felt her sex squeezing shut on his cock, sucking on him like a vacuuming throat, virtually trapping him inside her. "Yes!" he yelled, her cunt lapping his cum right out of his shaft.

He pounded his full weight into her hole, giving her another shot of ejaculation with each thrust, until her cunt had become a buttery mess of his cum and hers, stretched open and filled in. He flung himself down onto her bare back and bit down on her shoulder, teeth grinding at her flesh until he tasted warm blood.

Ali screamed the shirt out of her mouth, bucking with his roaring, plowing cock. Each stab it gave her sent another ripple of pleasure through her body, like her orgasm was just going on and on, not stopping until the ecstasy became agony.

He pulled out of her, finished for now, her open cunt slopping out cum like the blood trickling from the bite mark on her back. His cock was still threateningly half-hard, and it only took one look at it for Ali to roll onto her back and part her sore legs.

"That all you got, bitch?"


	10. Logan's Terrible Day Part IV

Logan jumped around. Kid had some sort of danger sense on him. A bit like his ol' animal instincts. He adapted easily to them. Just went with the beast inside. Dodged the blasts, scaled the wall, found himself landing beside the little chick-a-dee and slapping the gun out of her hands.

Girlie gave a roar—_Jesus_—and he slapped the taste out of her mouth too. Then the MILF shot at him. He thought he'd try the web stuff, make the kid look good, and leaned to the side as he fired out a whatcamacall, webline. It hit the gun, he pulled it away, Sasha roared too, so he clocked her in the gut, threw her on top of her daughter, and webbed them up like they were giving each other a hug. Professor would probably like that. He was a big believer in family, after all.

"You fool!" Sasha cried, craning her head so she didn't spit in Ana's face as she spoke. "You've ruined everything! Do you have the slightest idea _vhy _we needed your Kravinoff? What distant worlds ve have traveled through the web of life to—"

Logan didn't listen to the rest. Walking around them, he'd noticed how Sasha's tits were pressed against Ana's. Now that was some mother-daughter bonding he could get behind.

"Okay!" he said, halfway through her spiel, taking a seat and pulling up his mask. Christ, could he not breathe in that thing. "I'll bite. Why the fuck do you need a retarded version of Steve Irwin?"

"Because where we are from—" Ana piped up, with a less pronounced accent, "there is no Kraven! He died! Dead at his own hand as the climax of his grim hunt!"

"Now ain't that a shame. Bet the deer population's just all out o' control without him. Not ta mention all the goats won't never lose their virginity."

"Arrogant Americanski!" Sasha screamed. "You could never hope to understand a true manhood like my husband's! Even this vorld's pale reflection could at least prove virile enough to give me child—a male heir to the Kravinoff line that stretches back to the height of Russian power!"

"Well, hell." Logan crouched down beside them. "If you wanted ta get knocked up, darlin', all you needed to do was ask. You're still young. Got enough left in ya to squeeze one out."

"How dare you! How dare you make your commoner insinuations of me, the Lady Kravinoff—"

There was a reason Logan fucked on the first date, and it was because he always knew when to shut a girl up about Edward Snowden or the weather or what-the-fuck-ever and just kiss her. He grabbed Sasha by her pixie-cut and crushed his mouth against hers.

And the kid's inexperienced body picked it up in spades. He almost could've believe that a bit of Frenching was turning him on like this, but the machinery was damn sensitive. His balls were churning as he devoured the woman's mouth. He dropped a hand to her back and ran it down to her ass, which he gave a good squeeze to right through the webbing.

Ana watched the Spider force his tongue upon her mother's mouth and cried out, kicking and screaming and trying to ignore how good Sasha's thigh felt between her legs where they were pressed together, and the Spider's kiss made her mother _writhe…_

So Logan stopped kissing Sasha and kissed Ana.

Ana would never, _ever _admit that he was the first man who had ever kissed her. Never say aloud that his tongue's exploration between her parted lips sent sparks racing through her body. She would kill on the spot anyone who said she had opened her mouth and met his tongue with her own. If she saw graffiti on a building saying that a prickly feeling had covered her flesh and she'd wondered if she excited him in the same way he did her, she would've burned the building down. That was all just _happenstance. _She hated being kissed by him. Hated it, hated it, _hated it!_

And Sasha felt her daughter's nipples harden against her chest.

"Mmhm. Not bad," Logan said, pulling away from the two sets of kiss-bruised lips. "You want a heir, could do worse than letting the girl carry it for ya. Do her tits a favor. Make 'em nice and plump like momma's."

"_Cockroach!" _Sasha huffed. "We were only going to come to this world for the heir, but now, we vill have our revenge on you!"

Ana nodded in desperate agreement. "No jail can hold a Hunter!"

"Can't get enough of me, eh? I'm touched. But I think you'd better write to Miss Manners 'fore you can expect me to take you two out again. Mind your Ps and Qs, maybe next time I'll invite you up for coffee."

The police had finally realized the situation was resolved, and Logan could see their blowtorches cutting through the door. He shot out a webline and yanked himself up it, managing to exit the premises before he revealed his inexperience with the stuff. Not bad for a day's work. Peter could thank him for keeping up the hero shit later. Kid owed him one.

* * *

Once Cyclops had dismissed her, Mystique was quick to hurry to the A-wing of the prison. Apparently, prisoners who didn't merit the rare inhibitor collars were kept in medically-induced comas or (if they couldn't be sedated) put into the games outright. A-wing was the coma ward. Rogue had been put in charge of securing it.

Not that she'd been truly worried, but Mystique was happy to find Rogue glowing with stolen health, the two human guards in the room knocked out and secured. "Some days I worry I'm gonna end up really dumb and racist from leeching these peckerheads."

"I'll still love you," Mystique said with coy maternity. "Cyclops wants the prisoners kept under until we can determine if they deserve to be freed or if they'll actual threats. Let's see if we can find someone with a power you can use."

Mystique took Rogue by the shoulder and walked around the room, glancing at patients' charts. It was hard to recognize anyone with their heads shaved and countless IV lines trailing out of them, but she made out a few old friends. And one decidedly not.

"The Schizoid Man," she read. "One of the Liberators—those idiots who thought they'd set America on fire. Superpowers used for geopolitical squabbling." She tsked. "Take him, Marian."

Pulling her glove off once more, Rogue set her hand on the man's forehead. His face went varicose, while Rogue's own skin writhed in dealing with the influx of new power. Then, Rogue simply split into two.

"Whoa!" the first Rogue said to the other. "You're me!"

"No, I'm you!"

Raven grinned wryly. "Well, Marian, I never did want you to be an only child. Try making a few more. You can sweep the complex all by yourself!"

It was much like when Rogue had absorbed Madrox's power. With a little concentration, she and her double split and split again—ending up with eight Rogues, which made her woozy enough to think she'd hit her limit. The Rogues gave each other admiring, critical looks, appraising their own looks from different angles, before splitting up to check the building.

Mystique watched them go, flush with pride. Her baby girl was becoming quite the little freedom fighter. It took her back to when she'd first met Marian, a wide-eyed little girl in desperate need of someone to take care of her.

Her nostalgia did not extend to the next patient down the line. Charles Xavier. She pulled some of his IVs loose, halting the flow of sedatives to his brain. She wanted a nice, long chat with him. It'd been too long.

* * *

"Did you know," Dr. Cornelius began, "that you—all mutants, really—are descended from niggers?"

Scott's visor gave him a good poker face. If Cornelius was trying to provoke him, it wouldn't work. The rest of the Brotherhood had left, prisoners with them, leaving him alone with his strange quarry in the empty, devastated control room.

"I'm getting ahead of myself." Dr. Cornelius was wizened, ancient—Scott pegged him as being in his 90s, if not over a hundred years old. Like the evil that men do, he seemed to have lived on past his own body's expiration. "We'd just won the second World War. Captain America was gone, but the Super Soldier program remained, as did the Chitauri technology we'd captured—divvied up between us and the Russians… Nazi scientists… you've heard of Operation Paperclip, yes?"

Scott wasn't interested in war stories at the moment. "Why are you here?"

"I came with the inhibitor collars. I invented them, and Mr. Adams paid me a great deal of money for them—a few other anti-mutant precautions I'd thought up. I'm not greedy. I simply have a great many grandchildren, and I would like them provided for."

"The inhibitor collars—how do they work?"

"I was trying to tell you," Cornelius insisted coyly. "A super arms race began between the USSR and NATO. Every country wanted its own person of mass destruction—Captain Paraguay and whatnot. I helped work on Dr. Erskine's formula; America was ahead of the curb. We just needed to get back in the game. So we experimented. Negros, prisoners of war, chain gangs, even the homosexuals Germany was so good as to keep in their concentration camps. Did you know there is a rare-earth mineral in every human's bloodstream specifically to keep them from reacting to cosmic radiation? I once theorized it could've been put there by an alien species at the dawn of man. Isn't that interesting?"

"How do the inhibitors work?"

"Oh, not unlike Thallium or Hutchinsonite. The rare-earth mineral I told you about—I wanted to call it Cornelium—well, if you draw all of it out of the blood, then expose the body to high doses of cosmic radiation… mmm. Mm." Cornelius bit his lip. He nodded. "Yes."

"The collars are 'Cornelium,'" Scott reasoned.

"Just a few milligrams from the average, _normal _person. Forged into a collar. They prevent the body's intake of cosmic radiation—that wonderful energy that lets you shoot optic blasts from your eyes and heals your wounds. Without that, the body's production of mutant genomes shuts down, the mutations can't be powered—you're _ordinary. _Quite a frightful feeling, isn't it?" Cornelius smiled. "Ready to ask the real question now?"

"The research. What did it lead to?"

"In most cases, nothing. A few killed or became quite… freakish. That jolly green man in New York. Still others became mutates. We didn't make much progress on that before being shut down. I have to say, though, I have to say, we were far too softhearted. Those we'd done the procedure on who were apparently unaffected, they were just allowed to leave. The homosexuals didn't do much harm, I'll give you that, but all those Negros, all those POWs… released into the population, they _bred, _and when their children got together with the children of another _test subject, _the mutation became more pronounced. Until here we are, with the X-gene fully disseminated into the population, self-selecting stronger every day. An experiment escaped into the wild."

Cyclops said nothing.

"Oh? Did you think you were humanity's next stage of evolution? Shame. An intelligent man like you should know that evolution doesn't _work _that way. It makes species _adapt, _it finds them _niches, _it doesn't give them laser eyes for no reason. Or did you think it was God's will that you inherit the Earth? I know that's what your magnetic boss is always saying in his little podcasts. But you're wrong. You're not special. You're failed experiments, each and every one of you, and we will never forget that. We'll never allow you to supplant _normal _people—the descendants of the Negro and the mental patient and the Gypsy and the Hebrew and the war criminal—"

"Look me in the eye when you say that," Scott interrupted.

Cornelius looked up.

Scott turned the dial on his visor.

* * *

Charles came to slowly. Mystique watched him flounder into consciousness, leaning over the foot of his bed with her gun dangling from her hand. One of the drugs given to him was disodium selenide, which would interfere with his psychic abilities, but Mystique was taking no chances. One rustle in her head and she'd put one through his shoulder, put him back to sleep that way. Hard to mess with someone's mind while you were going into shock.

"What—what is this? Raven? What are you doing here?" He sounded drowsy. Weak.

"Just catching up with old friends. I don't have many left these days. Not since your friendly humans started wiping us out."

"Raven." His vision cleared. "What's going on?"

"Don't bother using your abilities, I'll tell you. It finally happened, Chuck. The humans came into your school and they took your students. Erik just thought they'd be put into camps. We never suspected they'd be hunted for sport on live TV."

"The children," Charles said with difficulty. "Are they alright?"

Raven flipped her hair a little. "As far as I know. Don't worry. The Brotherhood is checking for them now. We saved you. When all your enlightened liberal friends and political contacts and _NPR _were wringing their hands, _watching it happen, _we saved you. Never forget that."

"I won't. Just as I won't forget why I can't take a morning jog anymore."

Mystique straightened. "If we're going to rehash the past, I could recall a certain blonde student of yours you decided was more _beguiling _than me. Hurts my feminine ego a bit."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you choose to remember? After all this time? I didn't know you cared."

"_Yes you did._"

"No, I didn't. You never let me in, Raven. You never even hinted that you needed me, not like Emma did—"

"Don't say her name."

"You sell yourself as being such a cold predator, but you care. You care so much and you have no way of showing it. I wish… I wish we could've found a better way…" Charles ran his hands over his face, feeling the stubble that had grown while he'd been asleep. "If you've come for an apology, I'll give you one. I was a much younger man then, and not at all a wise one."

"No, you were right the first time." Raven tapped her temple. "I'd find it a bit insulting, having you tell me how _sorry _you are when we both know you don't regret a thing except that chair of yours. But I do want to thank you. That boy you brought up, Scott? And he was always more _yours _than Erik's, wasn't he? He's a good man. Not like us. He actually cares when he hurts people." She stared down Xavier. "More than he even cares about whether he can sleep at night or not. I like that about him. And I really like how he fucks like an act of God." Raven licked her lips. "I'll tell him you said hi. Then I think I'll suck his cock. You know how good I am at that."

* * *

Peter joked, but he thought he had a pretty healthy libido for a teenage boy. He masturbated occasionally, got together with Sue every so often, it was probably good for his heart or kidneys or something. It certainly felt good. And once he'd bopped it, then he could go on patrol in a spandex onesie without worrying that he'd tent his blue and red because he caught Black Cat bending over.

The problem with being in Wolverine's body was that he could fuck someone pretty much nonstop for hours and the same healing factor that was only really strained by _napalm _kept him as horny as ever. As long as he was aroused, he'd stay hard, and he'd keep fucking, and he took responsibility for it, not being aroused wasn't going to be on the table for him. He tried to think of Wilson Fisk eating a hot dog or something, but he couldn't go through with it; the thought of having an erection and that mental image at the same time was just too frightening.

So he just kept fucking Ali, while thinking distantly, vaguely, that he should probably be doing something to help the X-Men. Something besides giving one of them orgasms.

He wondered why the smell of Ali's arousal seemed to have gotten so much stronger recently. Almost like there were two of her. Two horny women in the room with him.

* * *

Rogue's dupe watched Wolverine pull out of Alison Blaire, fist his dick, and squeeze out great lashings of cum on the girl's stomach, into her pubic hair. Dazzler reached down, grinning up at him as she massaged some into her skin, scooped more up to her mouth where she licked it avidly from her fingers.

The dupe couldn't figure it out. Why waste a squirt like that on someone's belly like it was sunscreen? Why not cum on her tits like he had with Marvel Girl in the video? And how was it that bastard could go from Jean Grey to Alison Blaire in, what, _one hour_? Was he just fucking _everyone_?

Another dupe came through the door, seeing the first peeking around the corner. "Hey—"

The other Rogue shushed her quickly. "Get over here," she told herself. "You've gotta see this."


	11. Logan's Terrible Day Part V

Black Cat watched as Spider-Man left the zoo, dressed like someone out of her gay leather daddy porn for some reason or another. She'd heard the Kingpin was gunning for him, for real this time, and even if he was way too young for her, he didn't deserve to die. She'd save him and try to let him down a little easier than she had last time. With the vomit.

He'd probably be hung up on her. That'd be awkward, if understandable. After all, where was a guy who owned multiple spandex onesies going to get any action besides her?

* * *

Ali screamed beneath Peter, writing in ecstasy and raking her nails over his now broad back. Her hips were heaving up to meet his, legs hooked around his midsection, and her body slapped down wetly on the metal floor every time he thrust into her.

Rogue—_A _Rogue—was sure she'd never seen anything so depraved in her entire life. Sure, she'd watched that video online, but it couldn't begin to capture the sheer savagery of their pairing, the _smell _of their sex, the all-encompassing _noise _of it. She could clearly see the shameless opening of Ali underneath him, each and every time he so easily slid through her. She and her double stared transfixed as it went on and on, hearing Ali's ugly, demeaning language and Peter's bestial growling. The two of them were acting out a primordial fantasy that Rogue barely recognized, but that swelled inside her, becoming more and more exciting as she felt more and more… _primitive._

Her clothes were becoming so uncomfortable—something to do with how she was sweating. She took the topmost layer off, and was surprised when she tossed it aside and it landed right beside a jacket the other Rogue had divested herself of. They shared a look before their eyes refocused on Peter and Ali, drawn back by the fever pitch of their grunts and groans.

They didn't even notice a third Rogue dupe coming to join them in their voyeurism.

* * *

It changed nothing. Scott had thought about it and he'd decided. It changed nothing. He didn't care if mutants came from men, aliens, God, dumb luck—anything. They were his people.

All that mattered was the information about the source. If mutation could be triggered, it could also be undone—targeted. That'd always been the fear, that someone would reverse-engineer the mutation and figure out how to tailor a plague to mutantkind. But if some scientist somewhere had the notes, the _blueprints, _then it would be that much easier.

They'd have to go. Everyone in Weapon X, everyone in Project Rebirth. They'd all have to be dealt with. That was his top priority now. Let Magneto worry about their new Genoshan homeland. He had to take care of this. No one else could know.

Mystique entered, finding him still standing over Cornelius's corpse, a little haze of red energy still leaking from his visor, chiseling into the point on the wall he was staring at. She came up to him and gently shut the tap off.

"Hardcore," she said, staring down at the body.

"You were one of the first." His voice was dry. Cracked. "You knew him."

"Yes. Logan and I. It was a long time ago." _And I don't like talking about it, _went unsaid.

"He wiped your mind."

"He wiped everyone. I don't age. Sometimes I see Renaissance paintings and I wonder if one of the women is me."

_No. You were probably just an ordinary woman. Before he gave you a shot or a pill or a treatment…_

Scott turned. Stared at her. She was so beautiful… "You don't remember what you looked like before…"

"I look like this now," she answered firmly. "Blue and red. We complement each other."

"Yes."

"I talked with Xavier and the redhead. They're gathering up now. Getting ready to leave. I promised them the Genoshans wouldn't be harmed."

Scott nodded. Said numbly "We need hostages. To negotiate."

Mystique rested her brow against his. "Magneto will take care of that. He's on his way here. He congratulates you on a job well-done."

"Mmm."

"Did you want to see them? The X-Men?"

"No. I don't. Didn't."

"It's harder when it's in cold blood. You don't get to lie to yourself as much." She subtly increased the pressure of her head on his. "He deserved it. You know he did."

He nodded, shaking her loose.

"Let's find a room. If we're going to live here now, I want us to have the best bed."

* * *

**"Fuck me, baby! Just like that! Fucking HURT me, motherfucker! Fucking animal! Fucking BEAST!"**

"I think Beast is some other guy," Peter said mildly, in utter contrast to his body's instinctual motion. Even fucking Ali through the floor was no longer enough for Peter's inflamed passion. He rocked back onto his knees, picked Ali up by the middle, and slammed her onto his cock, up and down, deep and hard, grunting like a bull in rut as he _had her. _

Ali's eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth twitching like she was speaking in tongue, but Peter couldn't care less. All his lustful eyes could see were her small tits bouncing on her chest so fast they blurred. He lunged, biting down on one of her nipple piercings and letting its drag pain Ali as he continued to pump her back and forth on his cock.

Ali shrieked in pain and passion, her hair never wilder as she tossed her head from side to side, no longer riding the bulging manhood battering her insides but being ridden by it. "Gonna come—" she reported brokenly, her voice now hoarse.

Peter spoke through the piercing clenched in the side of his mouth. "So come, you little whore." As he spoke, he was tossing her around like a Dobermann with a chew toy. "You said you wanted this. _Fucking take it!"_

She tried so hard to reciprocate—slap him, call him a motherfucker, grind down on his cock like she did so well—but she was so well-fucked that it was hard enough to breathe. She could only go limp and let him punch his cock into her time and time again. When he crushed his weight back down upon her, her cunt red-hot with his blazing ejaculation, it was more than a relief.

"Fucking hell—" she breathed six full minutes later, him still inside her and the words dripping from her parted lips like globs of molten lead. "Now _that's _what I thought popping my cherry would be like! Course, if I'd gotten a dose of _that _back in junior high, I probably would've become a fucking nun!"

"Oh, are we done? I thought I heard past-tense."

Ali looked up at him, dipping a finger into her cum-ridden crotch and bringing it up to her mouth. "I don't know. _Are we?"_

"I don't think so." Peter stood, taking a deep breath. His cock was still hard. "In fact, I don't think you're going anywhere until you eat my cum like a good little girl."

"Mmmm." Ali looked at his cock, rapidly growing even stiffer. "And if I say no?"

It was then Peter noticed the four Rogues watching him from around the corner. Suddenly mortified, he covered his groin with the nearest thing he could get his hands on—Ali's head.

"I like the way you think, motherfucker!" she said, though it was garbled by her mouthful.

* * *

A crowd of one had gathered at the door of the cell, four half-naked bodies pressed close together to see without any pesky bars in the way.

"Look at him go—man knows how to treat a lady. Take her hard and fast…"

"Anyone know who she is? She's not Jean and I always heard him and her—"

"Who cares who she is?"

"Hope he comes soon. Oral's boring; I wanna see him fuck her in the ass."

"You like it in the ass, huh?" One of the Rogues slipped her arm around the other's waist. "Didn't know we were into that."

"Well, part of big momma must be into it, cuz I'm that part."

The audience's remarks became more and more lewd, their interest in each other more and more open, but Ali couldn't bring herself to care. Good practice for when she released a sex tape. She gulped Peter's cock down to the throbbing base, feeling his nuts on her chin with a fresh load of cum all for her.

"That's right, baby!" one of the Rogues whispered. "Suck 'im just like that! Make him shoot and eat what he gives ya!"

She spit his shaft from her mouth, inhaling only the heady aroma of his arousal before going back to playing with it—licking, kissing, teasing with the side of her face laid against his beefy thigh.

"I'm sure you go both ways," Peter said, "but I'm not one of your gal pals. I don't want foreplay; get back to sucking."

"Make me," she replied with an appropriate grin.

She'd been expecting it, but it still surprised her how quickly he had her down on her back, his knees in her armpits and his cock at her lips. "You don't have to suck, Ali. You can just open that little mouth and let me _fuck it._" And her mouth obligingly opened, letting him dig his cock deep into her throat.

"Holy shit!" a Rogue cried. "Look at her suck cock!"

"You mean look at him _make her _suck cock."

"Give it to her good, Wolvie!"

"Do I get a go?"

Peter went on, not heeding the obscenities of Rogue's anthropomorphized id. He was about ready to come and he wouldn't stop. Sweat was pouring from his body like he was being purged, the last of his body's essence gathered in his balls and ready to be ejected. "You ready? Ready to be a good little cocksucker? Look at all these people—fucking Southern quintuplets running around. They all wanna see you suck my cock…"

Ali gagged on him, fighting for air, tearing at his chest with scratches that instantly healed. His balls were between her tits and they could both feel them rumbling. She nodded and he lifted himself so he could breathe, but no sooner had he done so then she moved up with him, refusing to let go of his cock. She wrapped her arms around his ass as her nostrils flared, trying desperately to get air even as she downed him like a hungry animal.

"Imagine touching him," one of the Rogues said. "Getting the memory of what it feels like to have your cock down a girl's throat, right from the source—"

"Or her. Knowing what it feels like to really get _fucked…_"

"Fuck it."

And just like that, one of the Rogues was coming toward him, the other three a half-step behind.

That was enough to make him come. One moment he was in control—barely—enjoying having Ali plead with him for his cock. Then an orgasm was storming his cock, taking hold of him, and he hammered into her mouth like a machine gun on full auto. "Fuck—you fucking wanted it—so here it is!"

He came like a broken dam as the Rogues embraced him, bare hands roaming his naked flesh, ready to leech his memories and powers. But nothing happened, save for the eroticism of their interruption fueling, prolonging his orgasm.

He had no idea where the never-ending dregs of his ejaculation were coming from, but he kept coming even as Ali slid off his cock and took his release in the face. One of the Rogues grabbed his cock, trying to suck him there, but nothing happened aside from yet another blast onto Ali's tits, now offered up for the slow dwindling of his climax.

His cock dwindled, a heavy club now weighted down by exhaustion. And the dupes around him on all sides, now confused by the derailing of their plan.

"He's immune."

"Or—we can't suck."

"I'm sure you can suck if you really want to—" Peter said quickly.

A Rogue crouched down and touched the weary Ali. Nothing happened. "It doesn't work. Us duplicates—we don't have her power. _We can touch people!"_

"Hey!" Ali cried, weaving her way to her feet. "Fuck off, groupie cunts. I'm not done with him. He hasn't even _fingered _my ass yet!"

"We haven't had anything fingered!" a Rogue protested.

"BRIGHT LADY, WE'VE BEEN GONE HALF AN HOUR!"

Peter, Ali, and the Rogues looked over to see that the X-Men had returned, joined by Professor X, who was perhaps the only one not staring at Peter's erection.

Ali shrugged, upsetting some of the cum balanced on her tits and sending it trickling down her belly. "Yeah, I'm a fast operator, what can I say?"

Peter grabbed a pair of pants and tried to struggle into them, realizing too late they were Ali's capri pants and not at all suited for Logan's squat legs. He gave up, just holding the pants in front of his crotch.

"Hey, don't get cum all over those!" Ali told him. "I took those off specifically to avoid cum stains!"

"Professor!" Jean cried. "Would you—could you say something?"

"Well, this does bring to mind numerous ethical quandaries. Whether it was acceptable for Ms. Blaire to perform sex acts upon Peter while he was under the influence of a mind-altering substance, whether it was appropriate for Peter to engage in sexual activity while in another's body, if Rogue should be permitted to watch when the real Logan hasn't consented to allowing his body to be observed in flagrante delicto…"

"Wait, real Logan?" a Rogue asked. "Who's Peter?"

"Secret identity!" Peter stressed.

"The fact that you have a secret identity gives a clue to your secret identity," Jean said testily.

"_Someone's _worried she's not the best Spider-lay he's gotten today," Ali replied.

"Secret! Identity! Look, can I just go back to my body now, please? It's not much, but I'm used to it, and after today, I think I'll be cool with crazy women not jumping my bones out of nowhere."

"_Women?_" Jean and Ali said at the same time. "I'm not crazy—" "—She's not even crazy."

The Rogues were quietly backing out of the room.

"Please?" Peter repeated, staring at Xavier.

"Yes, I think that would be best. A moment, please. I would hate to swap your places while Mr. Logan is in danger." Xavier put a hand to his temple. "Ah."

"What, what is it?" Peter demanded. He almost dropped his pants in consternation.

"Nothing. Logan is asleep at the moment. I can switch your places easily enough. It's just that he's been—"

"Save it. I really don't want to know. Just…" Peter circled his finger in the air.

"Very well. I will…" Xavier circled his finger in the air.

A moment later, Logan's body dropped flat on its back and stayed motionless.

Storm leaned over to Ali. "So… how was he?" she whispered.


	12. Logan's Terrible Day Part VI

_A/N: I hope you like this last installment of the current arc. More to come soon and thank you for all the comments. Also, my good friend Ksennin is posting his fic here, starting with a fic called Wonder Woman Beginnings and continuing on from there with numerous well-written, porny Marvel and DC fics. He's a good guy and his work is pretty unappreciated, so do give it a look and try to think of something nice to say. _

* * *

Peter felt his head pound. His phone was ringing in the darkness. No, not _his _phone. Dial tone was all wrong. His was at least two nuclear explosions quieter. Eyes still shut, he pushed his nice, normal, uncallused hands against his ears. That helped, a little, although _moving _did not.

He took what stock he could of the situation. Lumpy bed. Couldn't feel much on his body but the sheets and dry sweat. He opened his eyes painstakingly and the cracked plaster above his head was definitely not the Albert Einstein poster he was used to. Was he actually in Wolverine's _apartment_?

Well, he supposed that made sense. Better that than subject Aunt May to a him-sized Wolverine. And, judging by the liquid explosions behind his eyelids during his long, slow blinks, Logan had managed to score some alcohol. A lot of alcohol. A Tony Stark level of alcohol.

The ringing finally stopped, replaced by Logan's voice. Answering machine message. "You know what to do," he growled. _Beep._

"Heh, Spider, that you? God, you sound like you swallowed a blowtorch. This is, uh, you, right? I suppose you could've given me a fake number, but after last night… why the hell would you?"

Black Cat's voice. He supposed it was inevitable that Logan would run into _someone _he knew while taking his body for a joyride. At least it wasn't MJ or Gwen. How much damage could Logan do to his relationship with someone that had vomited at the sight of him?

"Well, maybe you're still sore about that _other _time we met… with Hammerhead? Look, I'm sorry about that. Since you didn't mention it the other night, I assumed you let me off the hook, but I owe you an apology. Kid. I misjudged you, a ton—it's obvious now that you're a really old soul and, c'mon, what are you, seventeen? If I ever go to jail, it's gonna be for a lot worse than popping some high schooler's cherry. If that was your first time. Sure didn't feel like it. Mrow."

Oh, no. _No, no, no! _Peter tried lifting his head, and cracks like a string of firecrackers popped down his spine. He got a better view of the ceiling. A lot of webbing was hanging from it. And stuff hanging from the webbing. Like… was that a bra? And a stuffed animal?

"So when I see you again… _if _I see you again… I just want you to know that I'd be _very _interested in exploring… _whatever. _And let's make that soon, huh? I'd love it if you could destroy my ass again sometime this week."

Peter put a hand to his pounding head. It didn't help. Or it did help, a little, but what was profoundly _unhelpful _was the realization that his head was entirely shaved. Either Logan was very petty or he'd needed chemotherapy in the couple of hours Logan had spent in his body. Peter ran his hand over his body, checking for any piercings. No, no, and no. And it didn't feel like any tattoos either—they'd still be all red and sore and probably even bandaged, right? It wasn't like he could have _I'm Spider-Man _tattooed on his forehead and not know it.

Alright. Shaved head. Frightening-sounding sex with Black Cat. Fair's fair in love and body-swaps. He moved his other hand to wipe some of the crud out of his eyes.

The handcuff jingled around his wrist.

_Okay, _that was just childish. He was Spider-Man! He could just break the handcuff, and that was just a waste of a perfectly good handcuff, he could've spent that money on books for disadvantaged youths or something, what was the point of handcuffing Spider-Man to _nothing at all _judging by the amount of slack on the…

Pulling on it dislodged the slender wrist it was attached from the pile of blankets and cushions at his side. Peter tried very hard to look on the bright side. Good news: it was still attached to someone's body. Good news: That someone was breathing. Good news: That someone was a woman. And not a bad woman to be handcuffed to, lookswise. Everything else-wise, _yes, _given that she was Elektra Natchios, the Kingpin's chief enforcer-cum-assassin.

And she was naked, in his bed, asleep and… grinning.

Concentrating on being quiet even harder than when all he'd had to worry about was a hangover, Peter looked around for a key. It was amazing he'd managed to fall asleep next to her without waking up with a sai in his chest. Like riding on the subway with Bill O'Reilly and not hearing anything about the War on Christmas. But he wasn't going to push his luck. He'd find the key, unlock himself, and although he hated to be ungentlemanly, _he was going to get the fuck out of there before the crazy lady woke—_

"Mmm. Morning."

Good news: Elektra wasn't awake. Bad news: The woman on the other side of him was. Worse news: It was Silver Sable, the woman who'd been hunting him for sport the last week. Lot of that going around, apparently. Worst/good news: She was as naked as Elektra.

"You're up early," Sable said, shifting her head so it was resting on his slender chest. She ran a finger down his front. _Nope, _he wasn't wearing a thing, which was way more than he wanted to know about Wolverine's sleeping arrangements.

Though he could stand to hear a little more about the company. Questions like _How? _and _HOW? _sprang to mind.

Then Sable found what she was looking for. Well, at least he was wearing something down there. A ribbon. It did not make him feel very prized.

"Mmm." Sable moaned. "Up _very _early."

So sue him. His reaction to waking up with two beautiful naked women wasn't _I wonder what's new on Netflix Instant._

"And sleeping beauty's still out," she continued with a faint lick across his cheek. "Looks like I've got you all to myself for now. Tell you what. Do that thing you did to me last night just one more time and I'll forget I ever saw you. Unless you want to meet Roxxon in the altogether." She felt something against her hand. Not the hand she was leaning her head on. "My, my, Spider. I'll take that as a yes…"

* * *

In the day after their takeover of Krakoa, there was controlled chaos. The Genoshan military made a hasty attempt to retake the island, but with the Brotherhood's position fortified and Magneto's arrival, it was easily repelled. The complex had many prison cells for the hostages they'd taken, and the UN made the usual noise about negotiating a treaty. Cyclops heard talk of anti-government protests by mutants in the continental Genosha. When it flared into rioting, the Brotherhood would be there to fan it into full-on revolt.

For now, they waited. Appeared peaceful. Tolerant. Magneto delivered his rhetoric to cameras that had once filmed mutant death games. And Scott rested.

Mystique had insisted on giving them the most luxurious room in the complex. She felt they'd earned it. Magneto slept in a ferrous bedroom he traveled with, so they were free to take over Mojo's former room. After replacing the mattress and sheets, Raven laid Scott down and massaged him to sleep. She knew he wouldn't be up for a fuck. He wasn't like her.

Still, Raven enjoyed lying with him, wearing a black lace gown from the loot they'd liberated. She liked the way it felt on her skin. She liked the way it made her look.

After a short while of lying awake—almost on guard duty—she heard a knock at the door. She got up to step through the room—oak-paneled unlike the metallic bulkheads comprising the rest of the base, and mostly bare now that so much of its wealth had been redistributed to the other Brotherhood members. What was left was a luxuriously deep carpet, a plush red couch scattered with cushions, and the refrigerator. Raven was willing to part with a lot of the excess furnishings in the room, but not with any of Mojo's personal larder. The others had no idea how hard it was to get Nutella in the Savage Land.

She reached the door, opening up its wooden frame to the metal corridor outside. Marian stood outside, and her mouth dropped open a little at the sight of Mystique's blue body shining through her sheer black gown.

"Hey. Mom," she said unevenly.

"Marian. What can I do for you, baby girl?"

"It's, uh…" Marian scratched the white stripe in her hair. "It's my dupes."

"What about them?"

"Yeah, what about us?" another Rogue asked, sneaking a peak past Marian's shoulder.

There were four of them in addition to her Marian and Mystique could see they'd been in the dressing room. Rogue 1 wore clothes far… _skankier _than what Marian was usually caught in. A sheer green blouse, a microskirt, and a black dog collar that matched the bra visible through her top.

Rogue 2 hung back, dressed conservatively in a white blouse, hooded shawl, long gloves, and slacks. She looked as nervous as Marian had been when Raven had first known her—anxious and fearful of her power.

Rogue 3 wore a green bodysuit under a brown jacket, the former unzipped to reveal an expanse of cleavage that was quite unwise given the scope of her power.

Rogue 4 was actually dressed in what was most definitely intended to be a take-off on the X-Men uniform. Black leather, skintight, with lots of straps and boots and gloves, most of them in yellow for some reason.

Her Marian was easy to pick out amidst all the her extreme clones. She wore a long dark trenchcoat, clenched tightly around herself.

Mystique's nose wrinkled. This had the unfavorable taste of a teachable moment. "I thought you recalled all your dupes."

"I did!" Marian protested. "These—they don't wanna go. They saw Wolverine and that mutant Joan Jett, so it's like they discovered _boys _all at once or something—"

"Don't push this off on us!" Rogue 3 protested. "You're the one with all this naughtiness that made its way into us!"

"We didn't ask you to make us!" Rogue 4 added.

"Guys, c'mon, she's like our mom," Rogue 2 muttered.

"We wanna fuck!" Rogue 1 shouted.

In the background, Scott mumbled and turned over in his sleep.

"Ooh, is that Cyclops?" Rogue 1 asked.

"No!" Marian said quickly.

"No it isn't or no—"

"Just no!"

Mystique watched, richly amused. "Well, dear, this seems like a personal problem. Quite literally."

"Ma!"

"_Ma!_" one or two of the Rogues imitated mockingly.

Rogue 3 strove for reason. "Look, we know how it works. Sooner or later we're gonna break down and go back in the box. But we want to live a little first! We know how it works from the thing with Madrox. When we go back, momma feels everything we felt. We just want to give her something good to feel."

Mystique tilted her head to the side. "Such as?"

"You're all idiots." Rogue 1 reached out and grabbed Mystique's hand. "Look! No power! We can touch people; she can't!"

"Shut up," Marian hissed, slapping Rogue 1's hand away.

"This one has a point," Raven said, bopping Rogue 1 on the nose. "You do have a unique opportunity here, Marian. What would you like to do with it?"

"Well…" Marian looked stricken. "_They _want to gangbang Scott or sumthin'!"

Raven quirked an eyebrow. "So?"

"_So?_"

"What's the problem there? I just want my little girl to be happy, and if fucking Scott Summers makes you happy…"

"Alright!" Rogue 4 cheered. "Told ya she was a classy broad!"

Marian stared at the floor. "I thought you'd—"

"Be jealous? Marian, you're my daughter. The love of my life. The only thing that could possibly make me jealous is Scott giving you a pleasure I can't. And I'll live with that. So now, what's the _real _problem?"

Marian took a deep breath. "Well, this'd pretty much be my first time. And it's not like… it ain't like… I don't wanna lose my virginity in some kind of orgy. I want my first time to be special. I want it to be with someone Ah love, and who loves me!"

Raven reached out to stroke Marian's cheek, pulling her hand away when Marian's power absorbed some of her blue. "I understand, Marian. But I can't make Scott fall in love with you. I wish I could…"

"You can!" Rogue 2 insisted, speaking up like it was a major accomplishment for her.

Raven faced her. "How?"

"You… you…"

Marian got between them. "I want you… to be me. Then be with him. Let me watch. He cares about you… he loves you. So when you're in my form, it'll be like he loves me. That's all I ask. Sorry."

Raven looked over the other Rogues. "And you can all accept this."

"If we get him afterward," Rogue 1 said, arms crossed in a rare covering of her cleavage. "I don't just want some fucking Nicholas Sparks moment with the boytoy. I want to get fucked. We all do!"

Raven breathed deeply. Then she began to change. Yellow eyes turned to green. Blue skin faded into pale flesh. She peeled off her lace gown as her skin grew a facsimile of Marian's clothes. Until finally she stood before Marian, a reflection.

"And could you…" Marian started. "Could you maybe… make yourself a virgin again? If it won't hurt too much."

"I've listened to Scott's jokes. This is nothing."

"Me and the dupes, we don't have hymens. Lost it to a cucumber, age fourteen."

Mystique snapped her fingers. "I _knew _one of my vegetables went missing!"

Marian managed a nervous giggle. "Ah just want it to really be… like it could've been. Ya know?"

"Yes dear. Don't worry." With a little concentration, Raven tightened her sex to the point of virginity. She'd always wondered how Scott would manage with a first-timer. He seemed such a caring sort; maybe if Raven's first time had been with a caring sort, she wouldn't have ended up as a mutant terrorist. Maybe a lot of things.

Maybe she was a _great mom _to Rogue, and the girl had still ended up a member of the Brotherhood. Who cared?

Raven gestured her many, many daughters to the couch. "Sit down. Take a load of. _Watch and learn."_

She walked to the bed, shifting her appearance to have a few less layers than the real thing. Certainly less underwear.

She was going to lose her virginity to Scott Summers and she couldn't wait.

* * *

Silver Sable walked down the streets of New York knowing exactly how she looked. Hair a mess. Clothes wrinkled. Bra missing because it was in a waste bin somewhere, in four or five pieces. Let them stare. When the sex was as good as it had been, she almost wanted to brag about it. Last night, with Elektra… then again, one-on-one, and that was even better once he dumped the lame frat boy stuff. Just let himself be ridden…

Shaking herself of the memory before she could go back and help herself to more, Sable pulled her phone from her pocket and hit the quick-dial for Roxxon. She would never call sex that good a wash, but the fact was, she had actually gotten some business done overnight—not that she'd ever put those hours on her ledger. She knew Spider-Man's face now, if not his name. She knew his measurements; _every _measurement. And with all the scratching, the biting, the slapping—she didn't think he'd even noticed…

Mr. Roxxon picked up on the first dial—one of the few qualities she admired about him. "Don't tell me. You picked up Flash Thompson again."

"Har har." Sable cradled her smartphone against her shoulder as she hailed a cab. "I'm calling to say mission accomplished. Job's done. Spider-Man has been injected with your precious symbiote. The rest is all up to you."


End file.
